


Sweat and Swelter

by albatrost



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: Actual plot, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Rock Band, Anal Sex, Angst with a Happy Ending, Conspiracy, Drug Dealing, F/F, F/M, Happy Ending, I can't believe I wrote a band AU, I'm promising you what Isayama cannot, M/M, Oral Sex, Pegging, Polyamory, Public Sex, Recreational Drug Use, Slow Burn, Threesome - F/M/M, Vaginal Sex, Violence, erejeankasa, erejeankasa-centric but yumikuri is central too, i mean... not really but you have to wait a sec for the threesomes so we're calling it that, is this a list of tags or my usual Tuesday night, jk
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2019-06-24
Packaged: 2019-09-14 22:54:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 77,407
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16921989
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/albatrost/pseuds/albatrost
Summary: Panic over a new lethal and mysterious designer drug is sweeping over his city like a plague, cropping up in pockets of underground nightlife and leaving slaughter in its wake. His would-be boyfriend screwed his adopted sister, who has an apparent appetite for anything and everything him. Yet that’s all simmering away on a backburner, because tonight’s upcoming show wields the potential to be his band’s first big break— and Eren Jaeger can’t help feeling like he would love to catch a break himself.Or, alternatively:The self-indulgent erejeankasa band AU that nobody asked for.





	1. Fresh Flapjacks

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy! This is the first multi-chap I've ever written for SnK (and has inspired me to start more soon). It's actually super unlike anything I've ever written before, and I'm winging it! Wish me luck! With my current plan, the subplot involving the band and the ongoing drug mystery are just as central to the story as the developing relationships.
> 
> Just a disclaimer: even though I'm planning for this to end well, this story doesn't represent the healthiest or least-tumultous way to establish a poly relationship, so this won't be easygoing and angst-free.

A soft and drowsy quiet blanketed the household, woven in between gentle birdsong and the lulling thrum of distant car engines, the white noise of the city. It was the type of comfortable quiet that beckoned the house’s inhabitants to nestle deeper beneath their own sheets, ducking away from the pale morning light spilling through the shutters, and doze until noon. Nothing stirred at all throughout the house—spare for the dust motes floating in the soft rays of sunshine, and a pesky fruit fly flitting across the kitchen table from one coffee mug to the next. Everything was at ease.

It was a stillness that was—as usual—short-lived.

With a crack loud enough to splinter wood and blast open the hinges, the door to Jean’s bedroom smacked against the wall, and the boy himself fell to the floor with an earth-shattering thud. Grimacing with something akin to fear, his bare heels squeaked against the floor as he skidded on his back, trying to crawl away from what emerged from his doorway—an incredibly pissed-off Eren Jaeger, clad only in boxers and practically simmering with rage. The shorter boy stomped out after him, green eyes a raging tempest, and began pelting him with wadded up bundles of clothes.

“Fuck you, are you kidding me?!” Eren screamed, before bunching up Jean’s pants and whipping his arm forward, hurling them at his face. “You dirty, lying, horse-faced piece of _shit_!”

Jean winced, bringing an arm up to block the pants, eyebrows cinched together apologetically. “Fuck, I deserve that, okay? Shit, Eren, I said I’m sorry—I _am_ sorry—”

All Eren did in response was grunt as he slung more socks forward, and Jean tried to catch them as he scrambled to his feet.

“Whatever, fuck you, just get out of here,” Eren spat, bundling up another shirt. Jean could practically see his blood boiling.

“Eren, c’mon, I’m _sorry_ —” the plea burst from his lips as he ducked beneath a pair of underwear. Jean noticed that at this point Eren wasn’t even aiming for him anymore, just sending clothes sailing down the hallway toward the front door. Brows creased in confusion, he called out, “Wait, why the hell are you throwing my clothes out of _my_ room?”

The brunette walked up to him in two strides and smacked his hands to his chest with a loud thwack, shoving him into the wall. “Didn’t I just tell you to get the fuck out of here?!” 

“Eren, this is _my_ house!” he shouted in exasperation. 

_“That’s where you’re fucking wrong, ponyboy.”_

The comment was grumbled in so grave and gritty a baritone, voice thick with sleep, that it was enough to make both of them pause, turning their heads up slowly toward the top of the staircase. The bone-chilling glare Eren met there was enough to make him swallow and lower his arms. Ymir glowered at them, every bit as menacing as he’d ever seen her, and likely even more dangerous, given that they’d clearly just woken her up. A small tuft of blonde bedhead peeked around behind her left shoulder—and shit, that wasn’t good. It was one thing to disturb Ymir, but it was another thing entirely to disturb Historia in Ymir’s presence.

She was far too groggy to discern that this was anything beyond their usual bickering, and griped, “This is _my_ fucking place, and if you want to schedule your bitching hours for any time after 10 A.M., brilliant. Phenomenal. Be my guest.” Her annoyed expression turned devilish as she raised her eyebrows, a smile playing at her lips, and muttered, “Otherwise, feel free to pack up and haul your shit into the street like the goddamn mule you are, before I melt you into fucking glue.”

Jean snorted back, and Eren wondered how long he had had to live with Ymir for this not to terrify him. “Not sure if it counts as your place if you couldn’t afford your own damn rent and ‘allowed’ us to rent out the spare rooms,” he scoffed bitterly. He wasn’t angry at Ymir, not really, but guilt was swallowing him up and churning in his gut, and he sought to take out these feelings on someone, in the same childish and reckless manner as he had in his teenage years—and wow, things really never changed. 

“Besides,” he continued, “I think you can handle one noise complaint, since the rest of us have to listen to you rawing the fuck out of Historia every night.”

At that, the small blonde girl flushed redder than a vine-ripe tomato and slapped Ymir on the arm, hissing, “You said the walls were sound-proof!”

Ymir shrugged.

“So,” the brunette girl sighed, laying a palm on Historia’s face and pushing her to the side again when the flustered smaller girl continued to swat at her. “What the fuck is going on here, anyways?”

Jean opened his mouth to explain, before Ymir snatched back her hand with a yelp of pain. She squinted at her girlfriend with a puzzled look. “Christ, Historia, did you just bite me?”

With Jean distracted for the moment, Eren was able to recollect himself, and that pained fury welled right back up inside him. “Well, Jean?” he snarled. “Are you gonna fucking tell them what you just told me?”

The queasy and nervous glint in his eyes belied his sharp tongue and easygoing façade, and of course he wouldn’t. _Coward._ Eren was surprised Jean had confessed it to him at all. He needed to provoke him further. In one fluid motion, he swung a fist into Jean’s gut—not quite a slug, and far lighter than he could have hit him, but it knocked the breath out of him all the same.

“Well?” Eren challenged, fist poised again and expression all but anguished, and Jean breathed harshly through his nose before glancing up to lock eyes with Eren.

“I fucked your sister.”

The words were spat out harshly and shamefully. Eren could practically hear the look in his eyes. _Are you happy now?_

It was as if the sound had been socked out of the room just like the air from Jean’s lungs, and the townhouse was silent again.

“Uh, wow,” Ymir said out loud before she could stop herself, her amber eyes wide as dinner plates. Historia whispered out a soft “yikes…” before stepping back behind Ymir.

The two looked about ready to nonchalantly back away and up the staircase, but the creak of a door opening upstairs stopped them in their tracks. The ruckus had roused the third occupant of the house, and really, what opportune timing.

“Oi, Mikasa!” Eren cried out, craning his neck to try and see up and around the staircase. “Are you serious? Fucking _again_?”

“Eren, don’t shout,” came the tired reply. In spite of how noncommittal it sounded, her footsteps still sped up when she heard Eren’s voice, and she padded down the staircase to see what the matter was.

“… Wait, _again?_ ” Jean asked, snapping his head in Eren’s direction.

The green-eyed boy stared at her pitiably, looking both frustrated and exasperated—but not as angry as Jean had expected.

“What’s happening?” Mikasa ambled down the last stairs, stifling a yawn behind her hand, when Eren smacked his forehead into hers.

She recoiled, eyebrows slanted in concern as she lifted a hand to her forehead. “Eren—?”

“Jean? Really?” he snapped at her, incredulous. “Would it kill you to fuck someone I’m _not_ dating?”

“We aren’t dating, Eren!” Jean blurted out plaintively, as if it would somehow clear his name. He hadn’t cheated on Eren, really—but once he saw Eren’s crestfallen and reproachful expression, he just felt like more of an asshole for saying anything at all.

“I-I mean, I was planning on asking you, at some point,” Jean stuttered, back-tracking, like he hadn’t just dug himself a hole and fucked his would-be boyfriend’s sister in it. And _wow_ , now even Mikasa was glaring at him for hurting Eren’s feelings, and wasn’t that just the cherry on top? “I guess that may not work out now, but—”

“What the hell are we doing, then?” Eren barked, looking angry enough to cry, and oh god, Jean was praying he didn’t.

“I didn’t realize we paid for the soap opera channel when we got cable,” Ymir mumbled under her breath, and Historia elbowed her in the side.

“We’re… talking, Eren, I don’t know!”

“In my defense,” Mikasa murmured, raising a delicate brow and lifting her hands up, “I have absolutely no recollection of this.”

Jean groaned aloud.

Eren turned back to Jean when he heard the sound, clasping a fistful of his pajama shirt. “Well? Aren’t you gonna help her remember?” His fingers knotted tighter in the fabric as he seethed, “When was this? And where the hell was I?”

“Sasha’s farmhouse party.” Jean had to stop himself from flinching, absolutely certain there was a faceful of knuckles headed his way any minute.

“No way!”

Both Eren and Jean jolted in surprise as the brunette girl’s head popped up over the back of the couch in the living room, her lopsided ponytail swishing up and over to slap across her face. Sasha hurriedly brushed the hair out of her face, wide-eyed, before continuing, “Connie and I were wondering where you had gone. We looked everywhere for you!”

“…Yeah, no kidding,” Connie mumbled as well, his shaved head peeking out from behind the couch as well, only drawing more glances of confusion from everyone in the room. Eren’s hand slowly but surely went limp, dropping to dangle at his side, and the tension in the room seemed to diffuse all at once.

Ymir blinked a few times. “Jean, did you have them over last night?”

“Uh, no,” he answered, looking just as dumbfounded as she did.

“Mikasa?”

“No, I don’t think so.”

Even Sasha and Connie shook their heads along with her answer.

“Then why the hell are you in my house?!” Ymir tossed her hands up, before shaking her head and sighing. “You know what? Forget it. Do you want pancakes, Historia? Let’s go make pancakes.”

She and Historia traipsed hand in hand down the stairs. The freckled girl stopped at the foot of the stairs, before ominously warning Jean, “You better have this shit figured out before the show tonight.”

The two turned into the kitchen, and the harbingers of that morning’s chaos all followed begrudgingly, once they realized their stomachs were growling louder than they could.

  


* * *

“Sasha, stop eating the batter,” Mikasa scolded, not without an air of fondness, and tugged softly on her ponytail. Historia couldn’t help laughing when Sasha tried to slip the spatula from her mouth and back into the bowl as unnoticeably as possible, before answering, “Hm? Wasn’t.”

Despite Ymir’s offer for pancakes, she loitered to the side, stirring cream into a cup of tea she brewed for her girlfriend, while Historia and Sasha did the cooking. Mikasa dawdled behind the brunette, closing her eyes and trying to remember.

Her heart twinged bitterly when she thought back to his heartbroken expression, to the moment when the glinting embers of rage in his eyes were snuffed out, and he had just looked resigned. She had known Eren long enough to be able to know that this supposed outrage was hardly anger at all.

Mikasa’s eyes flickered, and she kept catching glances to the side from beneath her dark lashes. Eren was still talking to Jean, but she figured it would be best to leave them to themselves, for the time being.

Ymir followed her gaze, and the edge of her smile curled something mischievous. “Hey, Mikasa,” she began lowly, fully intending to pry. Her eyes flicked to the two boys and back again. “Do you really not remember anything, or did you say that just for Eren’s sake?”

“No, I really don’t remember,” Mikasa answered plainly. To be fair, Ymir would be surprised if the girl, who was so tactlessly and unendearingly honest, was capable of that deceit. She tucked her chin downwards and mumbled, “I wouldn’t do that to Eren on purpose.”

“Ha!” Ymir cackled. “Damn, I’ll have some of whatever you’re having, if it’s enough for you to black out for a whole night. What, Annie slip you some Berserk before she got carted off?”

Shadows shifted in Mikasa’s eyes, and her gaze suddenly looked less serene. Anxious to keep the peace, as always, Historia settled a hand on Mikasa’s forearm and glanced up at her girlfriend. “That’s not funny, Ymir. And we don’t know what happened yet.”

Sasha peered up away from the skillet of sizzling batter, hesitant but curious. “What exactly… is Berserk, if you don’t mind me asking?” She worried her lip for a moment when the three other girls grew quiet. “I mean, I saw the news stories about Annie, when she was arrested… but they never really talked much about that.”

“She wasn’t arrested,” Mikasa said without hesitation, though even she herself wasn’t sure how long that statement would be true. She leaned her hip against the counter. “They’re holding her until they can figure out why it was on her person. It was a strange amount, so they couldn’t determine if she was using or dealing. The charges are taking so long because they’re roped into the Ragako investigation.”

“Ragako?”

“Yo… there’s no way you haven’t heard about the ‘Ragako Rager’, right?” Ymir questioned, leaning in with a raised brow, and Sasha blinked for a moment.

“I know… that Connie’s from Ragako. And… Ragako is like a twenty-minute drive from here?”

“Wow, thanks Siri.”

“And… I went to one of Connie’s cousin’s parties in Ragako, which was sort of a rager?”

“You know, a solid ‘no, haven’t heard of it’ would have sufficed, but that’s fine.”

“So what happened? What is it?” Sasha asked, completely unphased.

Ymir stretched, pausing to stoke anticipation in the other girl, before answering. “Berserk is some kind of new designer drug. There’s other slang for it, too. Some people call it Titan Blood… Titan Juice…”

Sasha snorted a bit at that. “Titan Juice?”

“Well, word has it that it was developed on this campus.” She reached over and tapped her knuckles on the front of Historia’s sweatshirt for emphasis. _Trost University Titans._

“Anyways, all any of the news reports have really disclosed is that it makes people go fucking _mental_. I’m talking bath salts shit, and then some.” Ymir couldn’t resist playing it up, at least a little. “It really only got media attention after a huge group of kids in Ragako threw a house party and a bunch of people took some. It was a goddamn slaughter.”

“How do you mean?” Sasha tilted her head slightly, and it looked like she was going a bit pale. “Are you saying… they killed people?”

Ymir’s eyes darted back across the room again before she nodded. She was no longer embellishing the story with flair meant to spook Sasha, and she lowered her voice once she had started talking about the party. Mikasa realized that it may be partially for Connie’s sake; after all, he very well could have lost someone he knew. 

“Yeah… I mean, they were violent when they took to the streets, smashing stuff and going after anyone they saw, but… it’s worse than that…”

“Worse how?” she murmured, eyebrows slanted in concern.

“They—well—they _ate_ people.”

Mikasa felt her skin crawl just listening to the story.

“Ate?” the word slipped from her mouth in a puff of breath, as if she’d just been slugged in the chest. She shook her head slowly as though she must have misheard. “Like…” she reached down and ripped a fluffy shred of pancake off from the stack, stuffing it into her mouth. “Like, _ate_ ate?” She pointed at her chewing mouth.

“Yeah. Mad shit. Just running around, gnawing people’s faces off.”

Sasha swallowed thickly. “Did—did any of them survive?”

“The people who were attacked? Some of them, yeah. No one who took the Berserk lived.”

The Ackerman girl cleared her throat, finally entering the conversation. “That’s part of the investigation, too. Annie’s charges depend on the severity of the drug. For example, if people who took it did some shit by their own volition that got them killed, just because they were high, it’s not on the dealer. If the drug is inherently lethal though, and the distributor knows this, then it’s complicated. Could be manslaughter.”

Concern graced Sasha’s countenance, and she began with trepidation, “Annie… you don’t think she—?”

“She wasn’t responsible for Ragako, no,” Mikasa crossed her arms. “She’s never been there before. She reassured me of that, at least.”

“And you believe her?” the freckled girl asked earnestly. “I mean, she’s sure as hell not a user. At the very least, if she’s been snacking on faces, I haven’t seen it.”

“No, she’s not a user,” Mikasa purposefully ignored the first question, before sheepishly tacking on, “…She couldn’t be even if she wanted to. She’s scared of needles.”

Sasha looked at the other girl pleadingly. “I mean, surely she’s told you something, right Mikasa?”

The raven-haired girl shook her head, sliding her hand up to rub at the back of her neck. She sighed, looking a little irritated at the situation herself. “No. She calls to update me on how the case is going, sometimes, but she’s never told me whether or not all of this is true. That’s part of why we broke up in the first place, because she didn’t want me getting roped into this as well.”

“It’s only a short break, right?” Historia patted her on the shoulder reassuringly. Mikasa swiveled slightly to peer over at her. The smaller girl’s lips were pressed together into a thin waxen line, and she looked like she didn’t quite believe the words herself, but tried to comfort her anyways. “I’m sure they’ll get this all sorted out, and the two of you will be back together in no time.”

“Maybe,” Ymir countered, looking unimpressed, and she trained her gaze on the boys to the other side of the room. “I’d say that part depends on more than just Annie, don’t you think?”

Mikasa’s ring tone snapped the lot of them out of their discussion— _saved by the bell_ , Mikasa almost hummed to herself, because she didn’t want to think about the direction it was headed. Her eyes rested on the screen for just a moment—checking that it was indeed the prison’s number—before lifting the phone to her ear and rushing from the room. As the girl scurried away, the rest of the group gathered around the stove naturally tuned in to the conversation on the other side of the room. It could hardly be considered eavesdropping, since Eren tended to broadcast to the rest of the neighborhood without even trying.

“As if I’d believe that!” Eren almost laughed. “You’ve had a crush on her since middle school and you _know_ it. God, I’m an idiot.”

“To be fair, Eren,” Connie interjected on Jean’s behalf, though sympathetically. “Literally all of us have had a crush on Mikasa, at some point.”

“Oh, yeah, without a doubt,” Historia chimed in absentmindedly, flipping pancakes.

“Same,” her girlfriend nodded.

Eren looked up, brows furrowed as he glanced around for any validation, but none came.

Sasha shrugged. “I’m straight and I still have wet dreams about her sometimes.”

“Sorry, Eren,” Ymir sounded about as apologetic as she was capable of sounding. “You’re cute, but I think we’d all rather fuck your sister.”

Eren almost whined in exasperation, because really this was making him feel anything but better, and he opened his mouth to retort—before Jean snatched up his wrist and tugged him out of the room.

“Hey—!” he jerked back against Jean’s movements, but followed him out of the room anyways.

“Don’t listen to them,” Jean mumbled, voice gruff. He sounded peculiarly hurt, and Eren wondered if it was on his behalf.

He straightened up, finally wresting his arm free of Jean’s grip, and glared at him. “Yeah, well, I can stop listening to them just fine without being dragged out of the room, thanks.”

“Can we talk?” Jean’s expression was pleading again. Eren swallowed around a dry lump in his throat. “In my room, just for a second, please?”

Eren’s eyes flickered to the side, glinting bottle green in the morning sunlight, and he grumbled his assent. He didn’t want to talk now, not really—his stomach was grumbling and his temper was still sweltering and he was _hurt_ in a way Jean’s clever tongue wouldn’t fix—but he was somewhat subdued by exhaustion after his earlier outburst. He knew that Jean had fucked up, not him… but something about seeing the cocky bastard so crestfallen twisted his guts. His anger was justified, but... he couldn’t quite choke down the feeling, as he swallowed at the sight of the socks strewn down the hallway, that he’d be acting like a petulant child now if he didn’t at least try to listen.

It was that thought which had him strolling into Jean’s room and plopping down to sit on the side of his bed. He expected the mattress to dip next to him after he heard the door click shut, but he was startled to see Jean kneel on the floor in front of him. The sandy-haired boy’s expression was so chockfull of regret that it was almost sobering, and while it wasn’t enough to snuff out his rage, it only smoldered now.

“Eren…” he started and clasped one of Eren’s hands in his own. “I am so, _so_ sorry.”

The brunette bit down a rebuttal, wanting to ask exactly what good that did now, but breathed out slowly through flared nostrils instead. “Yeah, I… I know. You said as much, earlier.”

“But I don’t think you do know,” he pressed closer, pushing Eren’s thighs apart. “It was a _mistake_ , Eren. It shouldn’t have happened. Hell, since apparently Mikasa has no idea, I’m the only one who says it _did_ happen. And I’m sorry that it did… and I’m sorry about what I said to you, back there, in front of everyone.”

Eren arched a brow, as if he didn’t know what Jean was referencing.

“About us not dating… because even if neither of us ever asked, it’s not… I don’t want you to think that I wasn’t taking this seriously. Because I’m, like, _really_ into you, Eren. I didn’t want this to be some open thing, or some fuckbuddies thing, because I swear to god I just want you. I want you to be my boyfriend. And I’m sorry that I dragged my feet—”

“Maybe it’s better that you dragged your feet,” the other boy cut him off coldly. He gulped down the swell of emotions bubbling up inside him at Jean’s confession. He said he wanted to be his boyfriend now, of all times. Eren couldn’t figure out if this was his way of asking—and was it more terrible for Eren to hope he was or hope he wasn’t?

When Jean said nothing, clearly startled, Eren cleared his throat. “I mean, you’re telling me that the word “boyfriend” would have stopped you? Or would it have just been more satisfying for you if you got to cheat on me the proper way?”

“Eren, I told you, I was hammered out of my mind and I’m shot to _shit_ with guilt over it. It was—”

“A mistake, yeah,” Eren plucked the word right from his mouth, expression souring. “So you’re telling me that if she came in here right now, professing that you were her true love and throwing herself at you, that you’d still wanna date me?”

“Eren, you know she wouldn’t—she was clearly wasted out of her mind, too—”

“That’s not what I asked, answer the _fucking question_!” Eren shouted back, spitting livid, but he didn’t pull away when Jean’s hands grasped his biceps. The dark blonde boy bumped his forehead to Eren’s, resting it there, as he softly shushed and urged Eren to calmness. He wondered briefly if this was the first time in his life he’d ever met Eren’s instigation with pacification and soothing words. Yet this was different. The thing they were bickering and bargaining over this time was Eren’s forgiveness, and he understood, with every fiber of his being, that it wasn’t something he deserved.

“I… I just finally thought that things—” the brunette finally spoke up, his voice soft as a flutter of moth’s wings and cracking on the last word as if he was on the verge of tears.

“Shh,” Jean leaned in, his warm cheek brushing against Eren’s as he nestled his nose against the shell of Eren’s ear. He mumbled out, in the sweetest whisper, “It’s alright, Eren… Shh… I don’t want her, okay? I don’t want Mikasa… I want you. I just want you.”

He could feel Eren’s tight-throated swallow, and he bent to press his lips against the corner of Eren’s jaw. He read his reaction carefully, fully prepared for another flare of unpredictability, but none came. Whether or not Eren was still seething inside, he leaned into the touch, shivering slightly when Jean’s lips trailed feather-light down the side of his throat.

“I want this,” Jean murmured against the hot skin of his neck, breath ghosting over the hollow of his throat, before he planted a wet, open-mouthed kiss against the flesh. A deep and quiet groan reverberated through Eren’s chest, encouraging him, and before Jean could resist, his fingers were sweeping softly over the skin of his chest. He sucked softly at the side of his neck, feeling Eren shudder. The brunette bit down on his lip, feeling a twinge of pleasure stirring in his gut.

“And this,” he murmured as his lips followed his fingers downward over Eren’s tanned chest. His skin tingled along the trail of kisses Jean left, fresh and electric, and Jean began to kiss with more vigor as he enveloped the skin gently between his lips. Jean's own breathing and pulse quickened as he dipped his head lower, pressing his lips against the trail of dark hair that slipped beneath the hem of Eren’s boxers, and his kisses grew sloppier, tongue delving past his lips to taste the skin. Eren arched his back to meet that hot, wet tongue, warmth coiling in his groin. His cock throbbed, sending a nearly aching jolt of pleasure coursing through him, and he had to stop himself from reaching under Jean's chin to squeeze himself for relief. “And this…”

Tenderly, his lips pressed to the fabric at the front of Eren’s boxers, biting down a moan when he felt how hard Eren was already. Even through the thin veil of cotton, he could feel the swollen weight of it hot against his cheek, could feel it twitch when his lips curled around the side of the shaft…

Eren shuddered when Jean’s fingers curled eagerly over the waistband, nudging it down, and was elated when Eren shifted to allow him to pull them lower. He tugged them smoothly down his thighs. Eren’s erection sprung free and bobbed in between them, the head flushed a dark and pretty pink, and Jean’s mouth practically watered.

“And this.”

It only took a slow drag of his tongue over the sensitive head for Eren’s thighs to clamp around him, shivering at the hot, wet sensation, and Jean lapped in earnest. Blissfully unaware, Eren’s hips thrust shallowly forward with each agonizingly slow lick, seeking friction. The smell and taste and heat of Eren on his tongue were almost too much for Jean, and he reached down, gripping himself through his pajama pants. He couldn’t keep the teasing up for much longer, in any case, chest heaving and breaths unraveling from his lungs as he watched Eren lose composure above him. It was all he could do to drink it in.

He caught himself thinking that maybe this wasn’t quite fair, that maybe they would come to a much healthier understanding if they had started with those threads of earnest apology and talked until they had woven something together, that maybe seeking out agreement between Eren’s legs was his craven way of pushing all of this off to another time. It would be better for both of them that way, he reasoned—what good was a conversation when he barely had his wits about him? It was hard to think of anything other than the guilt and lust swirling in his mind... much less to divulge and dissect his feelings, and somehow sculpt a solution from the remains.

He slowly took Eren all the way in, feeling that blunt head squeeze past his lips and into the exquisite heat of his mouth, and Eren’s hips rolled forward. A drawn-out, tapered moan left his lips as Jean’s head started moving, and he trembled as he slipped in and out of those blush-pink lips, in and out of that wetness which made his knees weak and his legs tremble…

With a crack that shook the frame, Jean’s bedroom door was smacked open for the second time that morning. The blonde boy yelped and lurched backwards off of Eren, tumbling onto the floor boards. Eren jumped, heart leaping into his throat, and both boys’ heads whipped toward the door… however, the intruder didn’t look nearly as shocked or flustered.

“Eren,” Mikasa announced plainly, hand still splayed against the open door. “The pancakes are ready.”

Jean slapped his palms over his face the second he heard her voice, feeling himself blush to the tips of his ears, and slowly dragged them down over his eyes. He wondered briefly, in his utter and uncalled for mortification, if it wasn’t possible for him to peel off his own face and start anew under a different identity. A part of him knew he’d be this embarrassed if anyone walked in on him mid-deepthroat, but the fact that it was Mikasa made everything so much worse, in a way that he wasn’t quite ready to unpack yet. From behind his fingers, Jean was still privy to Eren’s irritated complaints.

“Christ, Mikasa, what did we say about knocking?” he almost sighed, slouching back on one arm.

She shrugged. “What did we say about locking?” she replied, reaching out to fiddle with the unlocked door handle for emphasis.

“It doesn’t work that way if it’s not the room of somebody you know!”

“I know Jean.”

“You still can’t just barge in! Ask Jean first.”

Jean finally pulled his face from his hands to pay attention to their exchange, before his jaw popped open in embarrassment. Despite the interruption, Eren hadn’t moved—meaning he was still leaning back onto an arm, thighs spread apart… cock flushed and rock-hard and shining with spit, standing proudly at attention for everyone to see.

“Jesus Christ, Eren!” Jean hissed, blush darkening to a guilty carmine, before grasping Eren’s thigh and hoisting it up to block the view. It crossed his mind that Eren could be doing this intentionally, making a show of his relationship with Jean to ward off or discourage Mikasa from any further pursuit. However, that didn’t seem likely, given the lack of hostility in the atmosphere. They argued, sure, but the mood felt nonchalant and very casual, as if they disagreed on whether or not it was going to rain that afternoon.

“Hm? Oh,” Eren mumbled, as if the thought hadn’t even occurred to him. This all left Jean to wonder whether his would-be boyfriend was just this unabashed in every situation, or if the two adopted siblings really had _no_ appropriate boundaries established.

“Anyways,” she continued, as if nothing was at all amiss, “Tori said there’s blackberries and strawberries in the fridge to top the pancakes with. You want blackberries, right?”

“Oh, yeah,” Eren nodded and blinked at her. “Thanks, ‘Kasa.”

She nodded back and closed the door behind her, returning to the kitchen. Silence hung heavy and stagnant in the room for a moment. Jean folded his hands over his mouth, unsure of what to follow that up with, and in the quiet they could hear the low thrum of voices in the kitchen. Namely, they could barely discern Ymir’s low voice, seemingly inquiring something. Mikasa had barely muttered a reply before the taller woman’s raucous laughter shook the house.

_“Oi, Jean, stop gargling balls and get in here!”_ Ymir howled from across the house, practically cackling. They heard what they assumed were Connie and Sasha stifling giggles before bursting into laughter, whether because of her words or because of the spectacle she was making of herself, how tickled she was at her own joke. Between barking out laughs, she managed, _“Fresh flapjacks or Eren’s load, you can only pick one!”_

Jean stared at the closed door for a few seconds, eyes looking a million worlds away. “Wow,” he deadpanned, before turning to Eren. “I hate her.”

A smile quirked at the edges of Eren’s lips, shaking his head as the sound of Ymir possibly choking on a pancake in the middle of her laughing fit reached his ears. He stood up, tucking himself into his boxers, before telling Jean, “I’ll go ahead and make that decision for you.”

There was no animosity in Eren’s words, and as he offered a hand to help the other boy to his feet, he donned a troubled, apologetic expression.

“We can talk about this later, alright Jean? Maybe after practice this afternoon. I just… need some time to think.”

The other boy nodded as he followed him out of the door, stomach still somewhat tight but feeling oddly relieved, despite how bizarrely everything progressed.

“Yeah, I’d really like that, Eren.”

Before the two of them crossed the threshold, a thought occurred to Jean, and he reached out to nudge Eren’s arm. “Hey, earlier, when you were talking to Mikasa on the stairs… you said ‘again’, what did you mean ‘again’?”

“Well, yeah,” Eren shrugged. His expression was difficult to read. “How do you think she met Annie?”

  


* * *

The pencil scratched softly against the smooth ecru paper, leaving a silvery trail of graphite in its wake. It was as methodical as it was meditational, the way the pencil’s tip scraped and sketched out the ghost of each fingertip, the feathery strands of hair falling over her shoulders, the specter of the girl before her. She would fill the sketch in later—imprint the girl’s shape into the paper with thick dark strokes, flesh it out in ripe color—but for now only the most ephemeral and gossamer-light picture remained. The artist dipped the lead to the page with a soft pressure, tracing out the bow of the girl’s lips, when motion caught her trained gaze.

“Oi, Historia, I’m trying to draw your mouth right now. What are you doing?”

“Oh, sorry,” the petite blonde girl’s tongue darted out over the corner of her mouth one more time, before she smiled warmly. “I think I’ve still got syrup on my face.”

“Hey, I can get that for you,” the freckled girl’s face split into a lupine grin as she leaned across her notebooks and rumpled bedsheets to press a kiss to the corner of her mouth, tongue flickering out over the sweetness there.

Her hand slipped over the lily-white skin of Historia’s shoulder, trailing downwards toward the hem of the sheet the blonde had clutched to her chest. The smaller girl exhaled softly at the gentle touch, leaning into it… but she quickly wrapped her slender finger’s around Ymir’s wrist to stop her.

“Oh no,” she breathed out, a teasing smile stretching over her features as she leaned back. “No, no. If I haven’t been allowed to move this sheet at all for the past half-hour, neither are you. You better put every fabric wrinkle exactly back where it was.”

Ymir barked out a laugh at Historia mocking how meticulous she was, before leaning back on her heels. “Alright, alright, you got me. I’ll finish up real quick, but I’m mainly done with the figure-drawing part anyways,” she finished fondly, bopping the tip of Historia’s nose lightly with the blunt end of her pencil. “I’m working on facial details now.”

The blonde tried to suppress her smile, coaching her countenance back into a blank expression, and let Ymir continue. This piece was important for her, after all—it may even be part of her final portfolio. The room was comfortably quiet, spare the background clinking and sloshing of Eren and Connie doing the dishes downstairs before leaving, and the occasional beep from Historia’s phone.

“All done!” Ymir exclaimed after a pause, kissing her fingertips with the flair of a fine chef. Historia hopped over across the bed and nuzzled against her shoulder, eager to admire Ymir’s handiwork. Her flaxen hair fanned over Ymir’s shoulder like a halo, and the brunette mused that really, that gorgeous luster was something all the paints in the world would never do justice.

“You’re amazing, Ymir,” she almost whispered. “You made me look perfect.”

The taller woman buried her nose in that golden hair, pressing a firm kiss to her head, before shaking her head in disagreement. “Well, what can I say, I’m a realist. Perfect is as perfect does.”

With a wry smirk, Historia softly punched Ymir in the bicep for her flattery. She nestled closer, breathing in the smell of Ymir’s clothes, before her expression fell a little.

“Hey, what is it?” she asked, cupping a hand to Historia’s cheek.

“You’re good… _so_ good…” she started after a pause. “And Trost University is where you really, _really_ wanted to go?”

Ymir’s hands dropped to her lap, and her brow cinched with worry. “Uh, yeah, of course. We’ve got a great art program, why wouldn’t I want to go?”

The blonde shook her head. “Someone as talented as you could have gotten in anywhere… hell, with your portfolio and test scores, you could be at the Sina Institute of the Arts. I just… I just really wanna make sure you’re doing this because you want to… that you’re not just doing this for me.”

Ymir propped her chin up on her folded hands, listening intently. It wasn’t the first time that Historia had expressed this concern. They had been high school sweethearts, after all, and it was difficult to argue that Trost offered anything Sina didn’t… besides, of course, the captain of their high school cheerleading team and prom queen herself, Historia Reiss. Ymir was just as smitten with the girl now as she was then—not the glimmering socialite persona she performed from the top of the pyramid, but the girl herself—yet that definitely wasn’t what her girlfriend wanted to hear, judging by her determined pout. It wasn’t rare for Ymir to scoff and hide behind a standoffish guise, but she was long past the point of lying to Historia now.

“What, c’mon, you’d have me lose my muse?” Ymir teased, skirting around the truth.

As Historia opened her mouth to retort, her phone beeped again, and she glanced to the side.

“Who is that, anyways?” Ymir drawled roughly. “That thing’s been going off ever since I sharpened my pencils.”

Historia picked the phone off of the bedside table and began to flip through her texts, brows creasing as she read. “The first few are from… my father.”

The freckled girl perked up, craning her neck around to squint at the screen. “Huh? What the hell does that shitbag want?”

“There’s some celebratory announcement and dinner ceremony being held for the company next week,” she muttered. “He wants… he wants me to be at his side. On the stage with him when he delivers the speech.”

The shock and suspicion were painted plainly on both of their mirrored expressions, and they stared at each other with a dire intensity.

“He wants you… to be his right-hand man at a celebratory announcement for Reiss Pharmaceuticals… when he’s literally threatened your life before for keeping the Reiss name,” Ymir spoke slowly, turning the words over in her mind. “Something isn’t adding up.”

“No, it’s… it’s weird, something’s not right,” she breathed out in agreement.

“Doesn’t he have, like, a whole flock of legitimate heirs? Isn’t he already planning to hand off the company to Frieda? Why would he need you there?”

“Yeah, Frieda’s been trained for this and everything… he’s never even talked to me about the company before,” she sniffed, shaking a hand through her blonde bangs. “Hell, he doesn’t talk to me about anything.”

“Do… do you think he’s trying to make things right?” Ymir tentatively asked. “I mean, are you going to go?”

Expression enigmatical, Historia bit down on her thumb. She gnawed absentmindedly as she stared at the screen. Had this been years ago, she would have instantly clamped down on any love and validation from her estranged father. Yet now, for some reason, she felt far more wary than relieved.

With a thick swallow, she pulled up the last message she had received.

“It’s… from Frieda.”

“Ha,” Ymir snorted. “What, is she jealous?”

Historia shook her head. She was tempted to defend Frieda, because really, her half-sister had never been anything but kind to her. She was the only one who had ever paid Historia any mind or visitation, whose affections never seemed to come with motives. But all of their interactions were still kept clandestine, and given Frieda’s privileged position as Rod Reiss’ favorite, Historia couldn’t blame Ymir for her distrust.

“No, she’s saying that… all of her interactions with the medical testing branch have been suspended. Same with Dirk, all of his involvement in the distribution branch has been cut until further notice. And Rod’s the one pulling the strings… He told her that he invited me to the dinner, and so she wanted to give me a heads up about what’s been happening. Apparently she thinks something big is going down, soon.”

“But she doesn’t know what?”

“Doesn’t seem like it, no.”

Seconds dripped by slowly, heavy like molasses, while both girls pondered over the information. After a minute, Historia looked up, determination glinting in her azure eyes.

“I think I want to go.”

Ymir spared her a sidelong glance. “You sure? You know that you don’t owe him anything, right?”

“No, not because of that. I mean, if he’s bringing me there and introducing me to everyone, he’s practically fessing up, right? Everyone’s gonna know. And I don’t think he would do that unless he’s in hot water. I wanna know what’s up.”

The blonde turned to her girlfriend, curling her fingers over her hand, and offered a meek but mischievous smile. “It _feels_ like something else is going on, something he’s trying to distract from. If we ever wanted an opportunity to fuck him over, this seems like it, right? 

A soft smile graced the dark-haired girl’s features. “Yeah baby, this is it.”

“Then I’ll text right now to ask if I can bring a plus one,” she beamed, leaning in for a chaste kiss.

“Ahh, so he’s not _just_ introducing his bastard, but also her degenerate, tattooed, muff-diving, broke-ass stoner of a girlfriend. I like it.”

“Milking it,” she shrugged. “Living how I wanna live.”

Ymir drew her thin hand to her lips, softly kissing the pale, waxy slits that marred her wrists. They were virtually indiscernible, after all these years, but Ymir’s lips found them by memory. “That’s what it’s all about, honey bee. Livin’ loud and proud.”

Ymir dropped her hand to pick up her discarded sketch from earlier, gingerly smoothing out before tucking it into a manila folder between sheets of wax paper. “And, if you really wanna know what I’m doing here, at Trost, it’s just that.” She slid the folder onto the bedside table before slinging an arm around Historia. “I’m living just for me. And I’m doing exactly what I want, promise.”

The small body beneath her arm nestled closer, warm and soft and yielding. “You know,” the blonde commented. “If all else fails, I’m still up for plan steal-my-dad’s-millions-and-become-your-sugar-mama.”

Ymir chuckled, roping another arm around the blonde’s side to embrace her fully, before planting a noisy kiss on her forehead.

“Hell, I’m not arguing with that.”

  


* * *

Wreaths of steam hung heavy in the room, and the air was thick with the soft and refreshing scent of shampoo. The black-haired girl sprawled on the mattress tried her best to pick out the notes of the fragrance, to figure out what it really smelled like. She rolled it over in her mind. Crisp apple, maybe? Lotus flower? Sweetness, sure, but not saccharine. It meshed with something fresher, cleaner.

She was jerked from her thoughts when the bathroom door swung open and Eren waltzed out, one towel wrapped about his waist and another in his hand. He ruffled it absentmindedly against the wet hair at the nape of his neck. Scanning the room, the brunette boy looked unsurprised to see Mikasa laying exactly where she’d been before he showered. 

“God, it’s hot as all hell in here,” he griped, as he walked toward the bed. He patted the towel against his forehead, as if dabbing sweat from his brow, before shooing Mikasa with one hand. “Scoot over.”

“Yeah, well,” she replied, sitting up on the bed so that he could flop unceremoniously onto the cool sheets behind her. She settled back down once he was comfortable, laying her head against his stomach. “That’ll happen when you pour gallons of boiling water over your head in the middle of July.”

He snorted a soft exhale of a laugh, and he dropped the smaller towel on the bed, his fingers moving to thread through her dark hair. He stroked the glossy black strands slowly, root to tip. Despite living with Ymir and Jean (and Historia, unofficially), it wasn’t abnormal for her to stop by Eren and Armin’s, and she had left with Eren in hopes of talking this out. They _needed_ to talk through this. Eren was anything but hostile—really, it seemed he hardly had a care in the world—but she imagined that this weighed on him as heavily as it did on her.

“Oh, hey, did you ever get ahold of Armin?” he asked as if nothing was awry, craning his head up to look at her face.

“Ah, yeah, he’s at the library,” she lifted up her phone and waved it slightly. “Working on his research again.”

“Hm,” Eren almost pouted, lolling his head back against the bed. “Will you ask him if he’s coming to the show tonight? I know it’s not really his scene, but it would mean a bunch to me.”

“Why can’t you?” she hummed drowsily.

“Your phone’s right there in your hand!”

She smirked. “I’m just teasing, ‘course I will.”

It grew quiet between the two of them as Mikasa tapped away at her phone. He continued to play with her hair mindlessly, staring at the ceiling fan. After a few minutes, the girl shifted uncomfortably and spoke up, voice soft with trepidation.

“I, uh… I didn’t know you were still mad about Annie.”

She felt Eren startle beneath her. His hands stilled, and she heard him swallow, as if thinking her accusation over. Nonetheless, his hands picked their steady pace back up again in no time at all, and he released a defeated sigh.

“I’m not. I’m… not mad at all, actually, I think I just wanted to be mad, you know?”

“Mm,” Mikasa nodded against him. “To be fair, you dodged a bullet on that one. I pretty much took a bullet for you,” she said matter-of-factly, sparing him a playful glance.

His lips quirked into a small, fond smile. “Ha, no kidding.”

The boy’s smile faded, and he worried his lip for a moment. “I think I wanted to be mad about this, too. But… it’s kind of hard to muster up, I guess. You… I mean, you _really_ don’t remember anything? At all?”

Mikasa shook her head, feeling unable to meet Eren’s earnest eyes. A part of her wished that he _could_ muster it up—angry Eren was a beast she’d learned to wrangle with ease long ago—but that anger never seemed reserved for her, or it fizzled out as quickly as it was lit. Admittedly, there were few things she feared more than the idea of Eren resenting her, but his inability to stay angry with her didn’t seem quite fair either—especially when she was rife with guilt and that anger seemed well-deserved.

“No,” she admitted truthfully. “I mean, it was weird when I woke up naked the next morning, but I just figured that I did something stupid, like puked or pissed all over myself, and that Sasha took off my clothes and put me to bed.”

Eren laughed at the sheepish look on her face. Tousling her hair, he chuckled, “Christ, how far gone were you?” his amused grin dimmed somewhat as a thought struck him. Still weakly smiling, his brows slanted in concern. “You know, you’re usually very middle-aged-wine-mom at these things. Everything… alright?”

“Hm? Yeah,” she answered almost a little too quickly. She stumbled to change the subject. “Anyways, it’s not gonna happen again. Chalk it up to a wasted misinterpretation of your mom’s advice. Carla always wanted us to share, but I don’t think she meant this much.”

Eren chuckled. “You never know, maybe mom was a swinger.”

Mikasa huffed out a laugh. Eyes languidly drooping shut, she inhaled deeply, breathing in the warm, fresh scent of Eren’s skin. Her head bounced slightly over his abdomen as he laughed. Even though his stomach was so taut and firm, lithe and svelte with muscle, she knew the flesh there was still so soft, and it was all she could do not to turn and press her cheek to the hot skin there, to bury her nose in the comforting smell…

“Did, uh, did you tell Annie?”

The hesitant question broke her peaceful reverie, and she peeled her eyes open again. “No,” she sighed. “Why would I?”

“Oh, I don’t know. I figured… well, I know you guys are on a break, but the way you guys talked about it, it didn’t sound like it was _over_ over, so I wasn’t—”

He continued to trip over his own tongue until Mikasa cut him off with a shrug. “It doesn’t matter if we’re still talking… We’re not together anymore.”

She said the words with steely conviction, despite not being fully convinced herself. The hand that was fidgeting with her hair stilled. “…You’re sure you’re alright, ‘Kasa?”

She smiled softly—because Eren really had no business worrying about her and Annie after when she felt she’d just driven a wedge between him and Jean, but here he was, as righteous and ready to help as ever. He had a right to be concerned as well—after all, she’d never before been in a half-year relationship that ended with her girlfriend going to prison—and as her own guilt meshed with distrust and betrayal and affection for Annie, the bitter concoction smeared in a grimace over her features, she was sure she wasn’t making the best case for herself. Guilt for her own feelings, even in the face of the genuine care she felt for Annie, was nothing new, but it was different now.

“I’m really just… pissed. I’m mad that I didn’t know any of this was going on.” She rifled a hand through her bangs, sounding tired. “And even if I wanted to tell her, what’s the point? It makes no difference, and _I_ didn’t know it happened until this morning.”

“Fair point,” he sighed, drawing his arms up so that his fingers laced together behind his head. “So…”

“So?”

Eren shrugged, brows raised. “So… how, uh, how was he?”

Mikasa snorted in laughter and surprise, before shooting him an uncertain double-take. When he seemed serious, she just shook her head with a barely-there smile. “You’re so fucking weird.”

“C’mon, I’m just curious,” he bluffed nonchalantly. “Y’know… how else would I know how his stroke game is, without talking to someone else about it?”

Mikasa mulled over what he was trying to imply, before sending him a flat and unamused glance. 

“…We all know that you’re the bottom, Eren.”

Eren barked out a laugh, not even trying to deny it, before shrugging. “Well, it was worth a try.”

Mikasa stifled her smile with a hand. She felt him shift underneath her, and she moved enough to let him up, before rolling over onto her stomach. He headed toward the dresser, and the girl averted her eyes, looking at her phone screen. She called out, “You know, if I didn’t remember whether or not the sex happened, I probably don’t remember how it was.”

He waved a hand dismissively, before rummaging around for boxers.

The girl bit her lip, before speaking in an even tone. “Jean… really makes you happy, doesn’t he?”

He shot her a curious look, one eyebrow raised suspiciously. “Well… yeah. Up until this morning. Why?”

“What Jean did was really shitty, but… assuming he was also as stupid and black-out drunk as I was at the time, you shouldn’t give him a harder time about it than you’d give me,” she met his inquisitive look with a sad smile. “You’re probably the only person who knows how much I hate to admit this, but he’s really good for you, Eren… aside from—”

“Aside from the time he gave me a black eye in seventh grade, and yes, I know that was your first impression of him and you’ve hated him ever since.”

“I don’t hate him _anymore_ … The hatred stopped pretty quick actually, once I learned that you one-hundred percent deserved it.”

“I still stand by the idea that being forced to watch someone eat mayonnaise straight from the packet is a good enough reason to punch anyone in the face.”

“ _Anyways_ , what Jean did was fucked, and if he ever does it again I’ll finely mince his dick like garlic on your behalf, but… I think you should give him another chance.”

“Yeah?” Eren mumbled, nervously rubbing the back of his neck. He piled the towel on his wardrobe and stepped into a pair of boxers, tugging them up over his waist. “I mean, I’m going to talk to him this afternoon, maybe after band practice.”

After a moment, his countenance brightened, and he chuckled as he pulled a dark grey tee over his shoulder, his head popping out of the V-shaped neckline. “Never in my life did I think I’d see _you_ sticking up for a guy who cheated on me…”

He pointed an accusatory finger at her as he beamed. “Admit it, you’re biased because that dick was bomb as hell and you know it.”

The brunette practically cackled as he dodged the wadded-up towel that was hurled his way. Mikasa was laughing, too, but she tried to school her expression into one of seriousness as she reached warningly for the pillows next.

“I’m kidding, I’m kidding!” Eren gasped out between laughs, lifting his hands in a gesture of peace. “I know you’re just watching out for me.”

“Someone has to,” she shrugged.

“So, what’re you gonna do today?” he asked casually, as he did his best to wriggle into a pair of skinny jeans without toppling to the floor.

“Probably gonna walk to campus and go bother Armin in the library.”

“Now that’s a plan,” he said warmly, before frowning at the time on his phone. “Shit, I’ve gotta bounce. I’ll see you at the show tonight, right?”

“Wouldn’t miss it for the world.”

He shot her an appreciative glance, all dazzling grin and viridian eyes, before he bounded down the hallway. She heard him fiddling with his bag, and rolled back onto her side, so that her face nestled against a pillow.

And as she breathed in the relaxing smell of Eren’s laundry, nuzzled her face against sheets that smelled just like him, she realized, with nerves twinging in her gut, that she remembered more than she let on.

The party itself, as well as how she’d come to consume so much alcohol, was a blur, a faint splash of watercolor over an otherwise blank canvas, and it was empty afterwards as well, but she found a moment in between the two of absolute clarity. She remembered the warmth of the drink branching through her veins like a rich swallow of frothy champagne. She remembered swaying to the beat in reckless abandon, inhibitions squandered, head lolling about like it was tethered to swinging anchors. She remembered twining her arms around the neck of someone there, pressing to his front, head too heavy to meet his eyes, leaning against his shirt… and smelling the scent of Eren’s laundry, of his bed. And she was the one who led him, a man who felt like Eren, smelled like Eren… who she wished was Eren… upstairs.

She groaned aloud and dragged her hands over her face.

God, she was fucked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope you enjoyed the train wreck so far!!! I know this is a band AU and I barely even touched on that part (lmao sorry), but it’s coming soon, along with some more backstory and character appearances! I intend to update as often as I can, but given that I want all of the chapters to be similar in length (~9,000-10,000 words) and content-rich, it may take a while. The next two chapters are already mapped out. I really appreciate feedback! If you have any comments or questions, feel free to follow me on tumblr (rip) @albatrost! I use the same name on the Praise the Walls discord.


	2. Amaretto Sours

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The curtain rises, a conspiracy theory unravels, and Eren remains about as incendiary as a dumpster fire regarding his “two-pump bitch” of a lover.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy again! Chapter 2 has finally arrived! Most of what I want to say, I’ve saved for the end notes, but I just wanted to thank everyone bothering to read this! (I feel like this AU is as much a happy distraction from manga events as it is a coping mechanism, lmao). I appreciate all of you!

“There you are, Reiner!” Ymir crowed out with a smirk on her face, arms wide. “Bring it in, you absolute fucking brick!”

A grin split the burly blonde man’s face, and he barreled in toward Ymir to meet her with a chest bump that all but socked the air out of her.

“Ah, Jesus fuck, Reiner,” she bemoaned, reeling back with a hand clutched to her breast. “Your tits are made of steel.”

“How’s everyone doing?” he beamed with as much pep as ever, ignoring her complaints to glance around the basement.

“Cattier than in your wildest dreams,” Ymir rolled her eyes, before nudging a shoulder in the direction of Eren and Jean. “I’ll explain later, at Jean’s expense.”

Reiner breathed out a laugh at that, eyebrows raised. “Alright, sounds good… have you guys finalized the set list yet? We really oughta tackle that first.”

“Way ahead of you,” the freckled girl started walking across the room and Reiner followed. “We’ve got the original songs scheduled and plugged, but we’re struggling to decide on a cover to end the show with.” Both of them stalled in front of the dilapidated sofa where Eren and Jean sat arguing—as expected, albeit with more zeal than usual.

“Remind me again why we can’t we do Garbage?” Eren snapped, looking frustrated.

“Because you don’t have the range, Eren.”

“I’ll show you some fuckin’ range—” 

“I don’t know what the hell that means, _anyways_ ,” Jean glared, unimpressed, “we already have The Pink Spiders _and_ MCR on the set list, you fucking emo, just let it go. We’re finishing with She Wants Revenge and that’s the end of it.”

“It’s not for me!” Eren shouted in exasperation, before pointing a finger into Jean’s face. “You know Mikasa loves Garbage!”

“Explains why she’s so fond of you,” Jean muttered.

“Fuck _you_ , at least I’m out here trying to do something nice for her!” he spat, before crossing his arms with a volatile glint in his eyes. “Something, I don’t know… remotely memorable.”

“What the fuck are you trying to say?”

“You know what I’m trying to say, you limp-dicked, weak-stroke, two-pump bitch!”

Ymir slapped a hand over her mouth and ugly-snorted into her palm.

“Fuck you, Eren,” Jean genuinely seethed. “And oh, right, absolutely, because it’s not like you’re the one sobbing and begging and crying like a bitch every time you cream yourself bouncing on my dick.”

“Maybe I was just crying from _boredom_ , Jean, did you ever think about that?!” Eren railed back.

“That really hadn’t occurred to me,” Jean rolled his eyes. “Back to the point, your shitty singing range is limited to what you can shout, so you’ll have to disappoint her.”

“Hasn’t she been disappointed enough?”

“I’m gonna strangle you with the mic cord.”

“I’m gonna suffocate you to death in my farts.”

“What?” Jean jerked back, looking far more puzzled than angry. “What the fuck? God, Eren, gross.”

“I don’t want to hear that,” Eren snarled at him. “Actin’ like you haven’t had your whole tongue up my asshole anyways—”

“Nobody, literally _nobody_ , wants to hear that,” Ymir cut him off, loudly enough that both of them jumped.

Reiner frowned slightly, arms crossed. “…I could stand to hear a little more.”

“Oh no, no no no, you are not enabling them today, you hulking gay behemoth. If the last song is the only one up for debate, then we’ll save that for later, decide _as a group_ , and in the meantime, practice what we already have,” the girl spoke coolly, golden eyes narrowed.

“Sure thing,” Jean shrugged with a dour expression. “But you two know as well as I do that Eren’s gonna croak trying to do Shirley Manson.”

“Yeah, right! God, you’re _clearly_ trying to croak today—” Eren yelled, before his voice caught in his throat and cracked into fits of dry coughing. Reiner reached down to rub his back as his hacking ebbed away into gravelly wheezing. Eren scowled at Jean with a vengeance once he had settled, chest still rattling with breath, but when he opened his mouth to retort… nothing came out.

The brunette lunged forward and bunched his hands in the front of Jean’s shirt, and the rawest, driest, most painful whisper ripped its way out of his throat. “ _Look what you fucking did_!”

Jean stared expectantly in confusion as Eren just stayed there, gnashing his teeth, and Ymir glowered once she understood what had happened. “Oh my fucking god. You’re shitting me. Of all the days for Eren to lose his fuckin’ voice from screaming his fuckin’ head off…”

She dragged a hand down over her eyes, pausing in thought, before she raised her head and gruffly snapped, “Alright, Historia taught me how to make a tea for this, with lots of honey. _Reiner_ gets to pick whichever song he likes better, since he’s the only one here who knows how to fucking act, and you two shitheads are going to take this outside and talk— _quietly_.”

There was a fair amount of crossed arms and rustled feathers and bitter mumbling, but eventually they had walked up the stairs and outside, exactly as Ymir had instructed. It was the heat of the day, and the last thing they needed before their sweat-inducing practice was scalding sunshine. Jean tucked back into the shallow pool of shade against the side of the townhouse, and beckoned Eren over with him. The two leaned side by side against the pale yellow paneling wordlessly for a few minutes, staring vacantly at the little yard—listening absently to the low thrum of insects and the lazy chatter of birdsong—until Jean’s sigh snipped through their silence. 

“I’m sorry, Eren,” he admitted, slouching back a little more defensively against the wall. “…Your singing really isn’t that bad.”

“Wow, thanks,” Eren rasped out, eyebrows raised facetiously.

“And you’re not garbage… and I’m not gonna strangle you with your mic cord.”

“Ha,” Eren smiled dryly. He turned to look at Jean, and whispered earnestly, “I don’t actually think that you’re a two-pump bitch.”

“Figured as much,” Jean smiled, surprising himself when he chuckled a little bit. “You know, you really don’t need to apologize. You losing your voice is kind of the last nail in the coffin of how badly I’ve fucked you over today.”

“Cool, I wasn’t going to,” Eren smiled, and Jean found it was contagious. “And yeah, today’s not been superb. It’ll be a good night though, I think.”

The sandy-haired boy bit down on his thumbnail as he surveyed the yard. He gnawed on it a bit as something chewed at his own gut, searching for something to say. 

“When… when we first started going out together, it felt like it had been a long time coming, you know?” Eren started quietly. The change in his voice had Jean turning to face him, brows knitted with something akin to worry.

“I mean, we were both middle-schoolers when we met, so there’s really nowhere to go but up from there,” he croaked out softly, eyes soft with reminiscence. “But I was this stupid, _stupid_ , self-righteous dick. You,” he turned and wheezed out a laugh. “You really were a bitch. This pompous coward who only cared about himself—”

“Thanks, Eren.”

“—but you were a good guy. You could talk to people, negotiate, lead a group. We butted heads, but… you talked some sense into me. I talked some heart into you,” he reasoned. “It felt like—I don’t know—like we complemented each other. Like we made each other better people. And so, when you finally asked me, a couple months ago, to go see that cheesy-ass horror movie, it felt like… _finally_.”

Jean gulped, throat dry—because he _did_ know what Eren meant. And god, didn’t the guilt of what he’d done sour his stomach all the more because of it?

“It almost felt like I had been waiting for it, without knowing,” Eren bit his lip, before gesturing with his hand loosely. “But… I guess I never figured it would be like this. With all the… uncertainty.”

He felt his heart sinking into his chest, a low ache reverberating through his ribs, and shook his head as reached out to touch Eren’s arm. The disappointed lilt to Eren’s voice carved him to the core, and he found himself frantic to reassure him. “Hey, look… if what you’re worried about it me being uncertain, I’m not. I swear I’m not, and I feel the same, Eren—"

“Jean, hey, it’s okay,” he cut in, voice still weak and dry. “I… I knew the way that you felt about her before we started going out. And I guessed I hoped it was all in the past, because this was what I was afraid of—not like, _this_ specifically—I guess what I mean is that I was scared you still wanted her.”

His eyes looked far-off and fond as they focused on a patch of grass, and he smiled in a sad kind of way. “I couldn’t even really blame you. She’s the best girl in the world.”

Something about his intonation made it hard for Jean to root out what exactly Eren was saying beneath his words—was it that he felt he couldn’t compare? Or did he not blame Jean because he would have done the same? The latter plucked and pinched at a fear of his, one that he had buried deep inside, but which plunged a little deeper every time he saw the two together. Because even if he had never been close enough with Mikasa to hear her admit to it, he saw the way she looked at him when he laughed, the way she fussed with him when she thought he hadn’t eaten enough, the way she leaned into his touch, the way she always sat just a little too close. His real fear—his hideously jealous fear—was that one day, Eren would see it too. That the both of them, with little to no hesitation, would decide that they wanted each other, and didn’t need him.

It was something he had no proof of beyond Mikasa’s yearning looks, and even then, he could be misconstruing what those meant. Yet the unshakeable feeling was so deeply-rooted within himself, and Eren’s cluelessness—his sole protection—was so thin and wan and frustrating and _precarious,_ that he was helpless to stop his traitorous urge to ask when it came clawing its way up his throat in a breathless jumble of words.

“You really have no idea, do you?”

“Hm?” Eren rasped, cocking a curious brow. “No idea about what?”

Jean could have tossed himself in front of the next passing bus, if given the chance. Shaking his head, the taller boy bit down on his tongue—he had no obligation to play matchmaker, especially if his hunch was wrong—but a part of him dwelled on Mikasa’s fond smile falling on Eren, dwelled on how happy they could make each other—and did he want to sabotage himself after all? Maybe it was wrong to want both of them, to sit on his heels biding his time and leeching their attention, until the day they inevitably fell in love with each other. He realized, a shameful flipping in his gut, that maybe he was still the same selfish coward that Eren had socked in the jaw in the seventh-grade cafeteria.

“Never mind,” he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. “But… you can and should blame me, regardless of anything else. And if there’s one thing I’m certain about, it’s you, okay?”

He reached down to take Eren’s hand in his own, and he gave it a squeeze. “I’m gonna make it up to you. I’ll make things right. What’re you doing tomorrow?”

“My Sunday’s free,” Eren shrugged, baring a slight smile. Jean felt some tight-chested, clenched-jaw swell of relief in his chest on Eren’s admission, toothy grin breaking out over his features. He was struggling to string this sentiment into a sentence when the green-eyed boy’s phone cut him off.

_I like the way you do that right thurr (right thurr)_

_Swing your hips when you’re walkin’,_

_Let down your hurr (let down your hurr)_

“Speak of the devil,” Eren murmured to himself, digging in his pockets and clapping his hands over his jeans and whipping his head about, until he realized that his phone was in his jacket.

_Look at her hips, (what?)_

_Look at her legs, ain’t she stacked? (stacked)_

_I sure wouldn’t mind hittin’ that from the back (back)—_

“Hey, Mikasa!” Eren called out, trying his best to sound normal and not to warrant any worry, even as it strained his throat.

 _‘That’s Mikasa’s ringtone?’_ Jean mouthed, sending him the flattest glare he could muster.

The brunette just met him with a wide-eyed nod and shrug, as if that should have been obvious. He turned his attention back to the phone, forcing out, “Oh, yeah, of course! Wouldn’t want any mid-show swirlies. Hey, you know what would look great on him? Those grey acid wash jeans I keep in the second drawer on the left… They’re too short on me now, but they’d fit him,” He listened intently for a moment, before scrunching his brows and pouting in feigned annoyance. “Uh, yeah, _I_ still do. Rude.”

A longer pause followed before he laughed and shook his head. “No way, Armin’s totally packing enough in the back for _skinny jeans_ , come on. I don’t believe you. Send me a picture of Armin’s butt right now.”

Eren walked away as he continued the conversation, pacing on his phone calls as was habitual. Jean watched him step from the shade into crystal sunlight, and tried not to notice how, in the harsh brightness, his eyes crinkled at the corners when he smiled at the sound of her voice.

  


* * *

_White light spilled neatly over her eyes, clean-cut beams pouring past the blinds and striping the sheets. Mikasa peeled her lids open languidly, and blinked her dry eyes at a ceiling she didn’t recognize. Her gaze steadied on a dusty ceiling fan. A couple of moments passed as she tried to place where she was, her drowsy mind rifling through thoughts as if she was skimming through the lines of a book. She was a hair’s breadth away from remembering when the mattress creaked beside her—springs groaning as her bedmate rolled to the side—and_ oh, _that’s right. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught the golden gleam of a headful of blonde, and she remembered exactly where she was._

 _She bit her lip to suppress a smile, rolling over onto her side and turning away from the other woman, as the memories of the previous night washed over her. Bertholdt’s brow had been nearly dripping as he let even more people into his flat, looking ready to melt right there, as he requested under his breath that everyone leave their shoes at the door and not track anything in—it was Reiner’s party, and the taller boy had been gracious enough to host, but something about his sweaty state suggested to Mikasa that he hadn’t been remotely prepared for Reiner’s lengthy guest list. It was only after a few months of hanging out with him that she would realize no, he was just always like that. Reiner himself, genuine grin splitting his face the moment he saw Ymir, had ushered everyone in to make introductions, greeting all of Ymir’s friends in his hearty bellow. She remembered swishing a mouthful of amaretto sour around, staring at faded strips of wallpaper and talking to no one—she really only knew Ymir and Historia, after all, and had only come at Historia’s urging—and she remembered hoping that the warm and frothy feeling of the drink would stultify the bitterness she felt. That a sip or two would help her forget the bad news._

 _It wasn’t her news to be upset about, and if anything, she should be happy—at least that was what she told herself, dour expression, as she gulped down another swallow of the sour drink. She felt soured to the core. Earlier that evening, Eren had burst through the door to his apartment, bright with bliss, to tell Armin and Mikasa about a girl he had taken out for lunch. A date, in his own words. As peaceful as it made her feel to see a smile plastered on his face, she felt something curdling in her gut from the moment she had heard—a guilty and nauseous and wholly unjustified stirring in her stomach that she wasn’t ready to face just yet. She wondered, looking back, if it was possible that she would have welcomed any distraction that night… whether or not it came in the form of a short and ornery blonde girl chatting her up, all slush-blue eyes and sarcasm._

 _She had liked her from the start. They had meshed well, and the longer they talked, she felt the blonde girl’s dry humor plucking at the knot in her core, unraveling the tangle in her entrails, until she felt no more twisting in her gut at all. She came to the realization that she liked her even more once they had left the party. Once the short girl had shoved her back against the door frame seconds after unlocking her apartment, keys still jingling in her hand, and dragged her down for a kiss. Once she had her hand pressed to the girl’s alabaster stomach, which really did feel hard as stone, those taut muscles rippling and clenching beneath the skin as Mikasa kissed over her heavy breast, rolling a pale pink nipple over her tongue. Once Mikasa’s own hands knotted in the sheets as the blonde girl hoisted Mikasa’s hips into the air, fingers curled knuckle-white into the skin of her thighs, and went down on her until her chin was dripping, until Mikasa’s throat was hoarse from crying out, until her entire body was quivering from the relentless pleasure._

 _The dark-haired girl squeezed her thighs together at the memory, feeling a familiar pulse of heat in her groin, and she was about to turn over and plant a kiss on that unruly nest of bedhead beside her when she was struck with a thought. She lurched over the edge of the bed, scrambling to reach for her jeans on the floor—and once she had grappled and clawed at them enough to bunch them into her hands, she fished her phone out of the pocket. 8:14 AM._ Shit _._

 _Sixteen minutes until she was supposed to be at the gym with Eren, and she had no idea where she was, much less where the nearest bus stop was. Hissing a slew of curses under her breath, she tossed back the covers and jumped out of the bed, getting dressed as quickly as possible. As she slung her sweater over her shoulders, she thumbed hurriedly through her messages._

 _Eren: i thought we said meet at 8??_

 _Eren: where the heck r u_

 _Eren: it’s cold pls hurry_

 _Eren: if i had to wake up before 8 am so do you wtf_

 _Eren: …..MIKASA_

 _Eren: okay i’m getting on the next bus w/o you :/ see you there?_

 _She wormed her feet into her boots and stuck her phone back in her pocket, glancing at the bed—and noticed, with some degree of surprise, that the racket had done nothing to disturb the lump under the covers there. She spared a quick smile at the girl. Mikasa didn’t want it to look like she was sneaking out (though clearly stealth wouldn’t be necessary) and paused to fumble with some sticky notes on the girl’s desk. She penned out “good time, gotta bounce”—wincing at how it sounded but unable to think of anything else—before quickly scribbling in her name and phone number. After shrugging on a coat, she was out the door._

Shit, Eren wasn’t lying, _she thought, bracing herself against the frigid blast of wind that hit her the moment she stepped out the door. Her cheeks prickled from the cold, nipped by the wind, and she shoved her hands in her pockets as she stalked away, toward the familiar sight of a bus stop sign. Mikasa worried her lip as she scanned over the stop times, over the lines that passed through the area—and when she saw it, she could have laughed with relief. Yellow line, 8:20. With any luck, judging by the map, she’d be catching the same bus Eren just boarded._

 _Though only a couple of minutes had passed, she was already shivering by the time the bus turned the corner, the sharp wind chewing its way through her coat. Rubbing her hands together and blowing warm puffs of breath onto them, she shifted impatiently as the bus slowed before her, coming to a stop with a rusty squeak. Once the door hissed and popped ajar, she hopped up the steps and swiped her card, before whipping her head to the side—and maybe she was feeling a little too excited for someone heading to the gym with their adopted brother this early on a weekend. But when she swept her eyes past the third row, alighting on gleaming green eyes and a surprised smile, she felt her chest swell and tighten with something that she couldn’t quite put into words, and she found she didn’t care._

 _His brows were still furrowed with uncertainty, but he looked relieved as he scooted closer to the window to give her room. “Hey, what the hell are you doing out here?”_

 _Brushing her black hair behind her ears with icy fingers, she plopped down onto the seat beside him. Mikasa drummed her fingers on her chin thoughtfully, before shrugging, “Dunno, just thought I might go to the gym today. What are you doing here?”_

 _Eren laughed before swatting her on the shoulder. “You know what I mean,” he grinned with a roll of his eyes, before reaching out to pinch at her jean-clad thighs. “And what? In these? Tell me you’ve got work-out clothes hidden in your prison wallet or something.”_

 _Stifling a snort behind her hand, she shook her head. “Uh, no, this is all I’ve got. Why, did you wanna check for me?”_

 _Eren chuckled, before he caught sight of her raised hand—so bloodless and cold that the nails were stained a pale lilac—and wrapped it in his own. She let him place his other hand on top and settle their twined fingers on his thigh—and god, was he warm. Mikasa offered him a fond look as he kept talking as if nothing was amiss. “Damn, I’m caught. For real though, what are you doing out here? Don’t tell me Ymir had you guys pub-crawling all night… you look like you could use some sleep. No offense.”_

 _“None taken,” Mikasa managed, before breaking into a loud and long yawn—and Eren jumped like it had walloped into him._

 _“Never mind, I’ve figured it out,” he laughed, leaning back to wave her breath away from him. “Christ, someone took the pussy wagon to get here. Jesus, ‘Kasa, brush your teeth.”_

 _The girl scrunched her lips up in front of her nose and sniffed. Yep—morning breath, stale alcohol, and straight-up cunt._

 _“Mm, I think it smells nice,” Mikasa sniffed at her own lips again before leaning over to try and plant a kiss on Eren’s cheek. Eren cackled as he pushed her away, his laughter all but drowning out her dramatic kissy sounds. The two stayed that way until the bus slowed in front of the gym._

 _The work-out was brief but intense, and peppered with instances of Eren glimpsing at his phone. It was only when the phone finally buzzed, after half an hour of Eren checking, that he became so busy tapping away that he forgot to spot for her, and Mikasa nearly dropped the barbell on her face._

 _“Somebody’s chatty today,” she eventually commented and raised an eyebrow, rubbing at her biceps with a slightly reproachful expression._

 _He scratched the back of his neck sheepishly. “Ah, sorry about that… she just texted me.”_

 _“So you want me to believe you’ve been staring doe-eyed at your phone every five minutes for no reason?” she crossed her arms and leaned back, a smile quirking at the corner of her lips. “Or are you ready to admit you needed a breather because you can’t keep up even when I’m in jeans?”_

 _“You wish,” he grinned. “And yeah, well, I was waiting to hear back. I asked her out to meet us for coffee.” The boy flashed a hopeful and lopsided grin. “I know we’ve only gone out once, but I really want you to meet her. I have a feeling you’re going to like her.”_

 _If she made him smile like that, despite how the thought pained her, then Mikasa figured she would probably like her, too. That was, until the two of them walked into the coffee shop, and Eren immediately approached a blonde woman sitting alone at a table there._

 _“Mikasa, this is Annie!” he smiled at Mikasa, just as the woman glanced over her shoulder. “And Annie, this is…”_

 _His voice died off as he looked back at Annie, watching as the color drained from her face. He swiveled his head back toward Mikasa, whose eyes widened in astonishment. She’d seen those hooded blue eyes, that gently hooked nose, and those pale pink lips before—twisted into expressions that made her blush to remember._

 _Mikasa slapped a hand over her forehead and groaned, turning to meet his confused look with an apologetic one._

 _“Sorry, Eren.”_

  


* * *

“Mikasa?” Armin called out expectantly, jostling her from the memory.

The girl shook her head to clear her thoughts, raven hair swishing about. “Mm, my bad, Armin… I think I might have zoned out for a minute there.”

“No kidding,” he smiled sympathetically. “It’s no problem. Trouble sleeping?”

“Early wake-up call. _Loud_ alarm clock,” she said, lifting her eyebrows for emphasis.

Armin chuckled knowingly, tucking long flaxen hair behind his ear. “Say no more… I love him to death, but since he’s started staying over at Jean’s, I really don’t miss that.”

Mikasa snorted softly and nodded. “Tell me about it.”

She raised her arms in a lazy stretch, leaning from side to side, before draping one over Armin’s shoulder and slouching over the back of his seat. “So, what were we talking about again?” she mused, peering curiously at the screen. “I thought it was supernova nucleosynthesis, not… news articles about berserk?”

She gestured loosely at all of the windows opened on his browser. Behind the browsers was a familiar backsplash of colorful plots and neat white Python text scripted over a black window, but in the forefront were a series of tabs. Every carnage-filled outbreak in which it made an appearance. Articles on various cathinone-based admixtures and their respective chemical compositions. Annie’s headshot, front and center, in a story on known connections to the drug. That photograph made Mikasa’s gut churn; she hardly recognized her.

“Ah, I guess I’ve been a little distracted as well,” he murmured. After a few moments of both of them staring at the screen, he turned to look at her. “It’s weird, don’t you think?”

“Hm?”

“Well, berserk itself, first off…” he started thoughtfully. 

“Yeah… I think anything that turns people into cannibals can be classified as weird.”

“Mm, not that part,” he shook his head. “I mean, I’m no chemist, and there’s not a lot of information on berserk itself that’s been released to the public. And whenever a new designer drug emerges, it takes a while for chemists to figure out exactly what it is, but at the very least, _usually_ they can relate it to a class of other drugs… not the case here, though.”

“So, it’s something new,” she commented, clearly not as suspicious about its origin. “Is it derived from some plant people just found out about?”

“No, that’s the thing, it’s completely synthetic,” he muttered, eyes glinting with intrigue, as he pulled up another tab. “But there’s no template, and no compositional similarities to any other mainstream drugs. I mean, if you’re making chemicals from scratch, meant to do a very specific thing and produce an enjoyable high… you would at least start by looking at some other designs that have worked, right?”

“Yeah, I guess,” Mikasa nodded, eyes narrowed and lips pursed. “What’re you trying to say?”

“Well, all these news stories keep throwing around the phrase ‘accidental mixing’. I… don’t think it’s an accident,” Armin confessed with a quiet determination, looking down at his haphazard notes. “Sure, we don’t know its components, so no one can say it wasn’t cooked up by mistake. They talk about it like a bunch of college kids just gathered around dumping shit in a pot and mixing it up, but… it’s _so_ dissimilar from everything else out there, and the doses in the news stories sound _so_ concentrated. So… clean.”

“Clean?” Mikasa asked, sounding as curious as she did skeptical.

“Well, I haven’t been at the crime scenes themselves… but you never hear about any other adverse side effects damaging the body, besides the supposed psychoactive effects.” His voice was steady as he spoke, and Mikasa struggled to swallow as she thought about what this meant. “They never mention finding anything else in the bloodstream, no diluters or fillers or residuary toxins, just… this chemical. Or cocktail of very specific chemicals, I guess.”

He clicked through the news articles from various sources about Ragako, and the two isolated instances in the downtown’s tent city. “There’s not a ton to go off of, but I mean… for all we know, does this drug even get people high? Is it built to do that? We have no records of casual and leisurely use at parties that ended well, no records of possession except by Annie, who wasn’t a user… it’s just bizarre. If this was just boiled up by a bunch of junkies at the university, isn’t it strange that the distribution seems so controlled?”

“I don’t know… Is it possible that we don’t have any records of that because it doesn’t cause problems when everything goes right?” she countered, playing the devil’s advocate out of curiosity. With a shrug, she continued, “I mean, maybe these people just OD’d. Or had something else hard-to-detect in their system and it caused an adverse reaction.”

Although she found herself agreeing with everything Armin had said, she pressed further—maybe if only to see how he could refute it. “I mean, nobody would take it of their own volition if it didn’t do _something_ for them, right? For all we know, a little bit of berserk is just as mellow as sativa… somebody handcrafts this artificially and no longer has to tend to a garden, keeps it on the down low, and everyone’s happy… until something goes wrong and there’s an itty-bitty massacre.”

Armin breathed out a laugh at this, her joke shaking him from his seriousness. “Well, that’s fair. If that’s the case, it’s… probably a bigger problem than we thought. Even then, though… something doesn’t sit right with me.” He lifted his hands into the air defensively with a sheepish smile. “Entertain me on this one.”

“Always,” Mikasa smiled back slightly, swiveling in her chair a bit.

“So,” he started, rearranging his screen such that the breaking news stories were front and center once again, before continuing, “If it was produced by college kids or at the very least _for_ college kids by a private distributor, with the goal any dealer has of increasing the drug’s popularity and making money… why haven’t we seen it on campus yet? Why have all the usages—or particular cases of overdose, if you’d rather—occurred where they have?”

He rapped the eraser of his pencil softly against the screen. “The two earliest cases were in the homeless community near known drug nests… and even then, they never got any media coverage until after Ragako. The only reason Ragako got any attention is because there _were_ a couple of college students that were roped into the chaos.”

“Wait, Ragako wasn’t a student party?”

“No,” Armin shook his head, switching over to a search page about the Ragako Rager’s venue. “Not an undergrad hangout. This place was on its fourth heroin bust before that party was hosted there. And it attracted the crowd you’d expect, with a few outliers.”

Her brows knit together in confusion. “They’re not selling it that way on the news.”

“Nope,” Armin agreed. “That, and the news outlets are pushing the ‘accidental mixing’ at Trost Uni narrative.”

“Fishy.”

“Uh-huh.”

“I’m putting on my tinfoil hat for this comment,” Armin prefaced, small smile gracing his features. “But it seems to me that, if this distributor is just getting started, they’re trying not to attract attention. So far, berserk has really only popped up in drug dens and the tent city… if you only aim for the city’s ‘degenerates’, as the first two instances prove, nobody pays attention.”

“That doesn’t seem very profitable,” Mikasa crossed her arms.

“No,” Armin assented. “I can’t think of why someone would start dealing that way… unless maybe they already thought this might happen.”

Armin’s expression was enigmatical, and something about all of it raised Mikasa’s hair on end. “But they’re in the public eye now, after Ragako, whether they wanted to be or not… who knows what they’ll do next.”

She felt as though a cold stone had been dropped into the pit of her stomach, sinking into her innards, and the chill only worsened the longer she stared into the pixels of Annie’s gutter-slush eyes. Speechlessly, both of them ogled the screen for a minute or two. With an almost bashful laugh, Armin snapped them out of it.

“I’m, uh, sorry about all that, I know it’s a lot,” he smiled apologetically, minimizing the tab with Annie’s disconcerting expression, as if he realized she may not want to see it. “Seriously, I wouldn’t blame you if you get me red thread for my birthday.”

Shaking her head, she chuckled, before settling an arm around him. “Hey, I’ll be pinning that red thread right up there with you.”

She returned his appreciative glance, before turning to glimpse the screen one more time. “So, what got you started on all of this anyways?”

Her mind tumbled like a burbling creek over river stones before splashing into a crystalline pond, she was met with a sudden moment of clarity. Why she had asked Annie out to begin with. “Is it… because of Annie?”

Armin shrugged and nodded. “It just… doesn’t seem like her, that’s all.”

Despite having woken up in Annie’s bed that fateful morning, Mikasa had still been ready to punt her out of the café the moment that Eren’s hopeful heart had been dashed across the floor. It was only after some discussion of the misunderstanding—apparently Annie hadn’t realized Eren thought it was a date—that the three agreed to sit and talk over scones, and not long after, Annie had somehow become a fixture of their friend group. Even though she had already known Reiner and Bertholdt as acquaintances, Annie had taken a slow kindling to warm up to the rest of Mikasa’s friends. To her surprise, out of all of them, it was Armin to whom the quiet and otherwise abrasive girl had taken a liking. It was Armin who posited that she really was a kind person. It was Armin who had given Mikasa her trust in Annie.

“And don’t worry,” Armin tossed her an understanding look. “I’m not going to ask you how you feel about your girlfriend going to jail.”

Mikasa spared him a grateful sigh. That, at least, was refreshing.

“I feel like you’ve got enough going on in that area as it is.”

It was said offhandedly, as if he was only commenting on the weather, but she swallowed tightly around a lump in her throat at what felt almost like a brazen accusation. She hadn’t been as bothered earlier, having it recounted to her, but for some reason Armin knowing about her behavior—knowing about her role in fucking this up for Eren—made her feel embarrassed for something she couldn’t even remember. She looked off to the side a little bit so that her hair would hide the slight heat of shame rising to her cheeks, hoping to look as nonplussed as ever. “So Eren talked to you?”

“Hm? Not today.”

“…Wait, what are you talking about, then?” she asked, eyes narrowed suspiciously.

“What are _you_ talking about?” Armin countered, squinting almost comically and managing to look even more suspicious than she did.

Mikasa sighed, slumping back onto her office chair. “You’ll probably find out from everyone else at the show tonight, so I won’t spoil the surprise. You are coming, right?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah,” he mumbled. “I really want to… I have no idea what I’ll wear though.”

“I’m sure you can borrow something of Eren’s.” She rummaged around in her bag for her phone. “Lemme call him.”

Armin nodded as Mikasa lifted the phone to her ear. It rang for a few moments before Armin could distantly hear Eren’s enthusiastic voice pick up on the other end.

“Eren, hey,” Mikasa started, “I’m giving Armin a punk rock makeover so that nobody gives him a swirly at the show,” she deadpanned, and Armin lifted a hand to his mouth to suppress a chuckle. “Permission to raid your closet?”

The blonde boy heard muffled speaking on the other end of the line, and Mikasa quirked a brow quizzically. “Does anyone even still wear acid wash jeans?” A pause, and then, in a concerned tone, “I don’t know if Armin’s got the ass for that.”

She snorted abruptly at something Eren said, before shaking her head and smiling. “No, I am not going to do that… I’ll keep the grey ones in mind though. Got it. Aren’t you supposed to be practicing? Alright, I’ll see you later. Love you too.”

The raven-haired girl hung up and tucked the phone away safely in her pocket, the ghost of a smile still on her lips. Armin glanced at her thoughtfully as she slung her bag over her shoulder and tentatively rose to her feet. “Well, we should probably get going then. Need any help clearing up the workspace?”

Armin shook his head as he shuffled the crisp papers in his hands, rifling them neatly back into his binder, and he glanced at her out of the corner of his eye with a well-intentioned expression. “You can talk to him about how you feel, you know… is what I was talking about, earlier.”

Startling slightly, Mikasa swallowed. It seemed those crystalline blue eyes cut through anything, delving in and dredging up the truth. Her voice felt a little bit shakier than would prefer as she forced out, “How I feel about his garbage fashion sense?”

“Yeah, sure,” he nodded good-naturedly. “About that.”

“Alright,” she released a breath she had been holding for a few seconds, feeling… oddly lighter, as she took in her best friend’s easygoing countenance. He didn’t seem perturbed in the slightest, and for some reason that settled her uneasiness and anxiety as well. She wondered how long he had known—and if, by bringing it up, he had meant to incite something. Did he know something she didn’t? Would he goad her on if he didn’t think it would end well for all of them? Armin had never been wrong before, after all.

“Maybe I will,” was all she said.

The blonde boy smiled. “On the topic of fashion,” he smoothly switched subjects, hoisting his heavy bag onto his shoulder. “What exactly do I not have the ass for?”

  


* * *

A thick stroke of coal-black was swept across his waterline. Viridian eyes twitched slightly as the pencil rimmed his lids, glimmered in the garish light of the flickering bulbs lining the top of the mirror, before they rolled back as he smudged it out with the pad of his finger. After a moment or two of softly patting at his eyes, he leaned back to appraise himself in the mirror, before spinning on his heels to face Jean.

“So,” he beamed, stretching out his arms, “How do I look?”

The sandy-haired boy sat in front of a backstage mirror opposite from his own, adjusting his jacket, before sparing Eren a glance over his shoulder. “Gay.”

He lurched as the thick heel of a boot slammed into the back of his chair. He spun around, hands raised, and spat out, “I’m kidding!” He slowly dropped his hands to his sides, before he sighed, and stated with sincerity, “You look gorgeous, Eren.”

The corners of Jean’s lips twitched a bit, and he shook his head as he breathed out a shaky laugh. “Really damn gorgeous, actually. There’s a reason you’re the front man, you know.”

Ymir stepped up behind them and swung an arm around Eren’s shoulders, grinning at him in the mirror. “What, you didn’t actually think it’s because you could sing, right?”

She leapt to side and narrowly avoided the elbow aimed her way, cackling as she walked back over toward her guitar to continue checking its tuning. “And anyways, speak for yourself, horseface. I’m a fucking beaut.”

The brunette boy was about to retort when the muffled sound of a gaggle of voices reached his ears from just beyond the curtain. The dark fabric parted as some familiar faces were led back in to see them.

“Ymir!” the short blonde girl called out, rushing over to her side before she was scooped up into a hug.

“Hey, everybody,” Reiner laughed as Connie and Sasha filed in after her. “What are you guys doing here?”

“We thought we’d wish you guys good luck before the show!” Connie sidled up beside Reiner, and he welcomed the anticipated bear hug.

“Not that you’re going to need it,” Armin smiled reassuringly, walking in side-by-side with Mikasa, and pulling the curtain closed behind him.

The black-haired girl was met with a wolf whistle from Eren as she strode in. “Damn, ‘Kasa, look at you!”

He stepped over from behind Jean’s chair and hooked his fingers over the elastic band of her thigh-high stockings, before letting them snap softly against her legs. She tried to suppress the shudder that rolled up her spine when the band cleanly slapped the sensitive skin of her thighs. He raised his hand up expectantly, and she grasped it and twirled once beneath it, as if they were dancing. “I didn’t even know you had this dress! You really dressed up for this, huh?”

She feigned a disinterested shrug and teased, “I had to show you up somehow, didn’t I?”

“Ha,” he squeezed the hand he was still holding. “Don’t need the dress for that, honey. Armin! You gotta give me a spin, too, you know.”

Her cheeks colored the softest carmine as she glanced away at Armin, brushing a few oil-black strands of hair over her jaw to hide the flush, but for an instant, Eren’s gaze caught her own as she turned. He shot her a curious look, before facing Armin once more.

Eren nodded and grinned as Armin finished his turn. “I knew it’d fit you!” He turned to Mikasa and unsubtly gestured toward his rear, mouthing out _‘I told you so’._

“Five minutes ‘til curtain,” one of the venue’s workers poked his head backstage, before pointedly suggesting, “Might wanna clear out…”

Reiner laughed once the man had left once more. “Alright, you guys better get out there and get good spots,” he encouraged, before a thought seemed to occur to him. “By the way… have any of you guys seen Bertholdt yet?”

Everyone shook their heads collectively, mumbling dissent between their good-byes and good-lucks as they began to file back out. Reiner just shrugged, as if it wasn’t too significant. “Whatever, I’m sure he’ll be here on time.”

Mikasa paused on her way out, sparing a look at the boy who was facing the mirror once more, running his fingers through his dark blonde hair, bobbing his head slightly and moving his lips, as if going over the notes of a song. Jean. She realized, with a heavy, heart-pinching feeling, that her emotions had the potential not only to bring Eren trouble, but Jean as well. Was it worth possibly alienating both of them? Though they had never been close the way she was with Armin and Eren, or even with Sasha and Historia, his happiness meant something to her as well, after over a decade of friendship. And he was good to Eren, good with Eren, she chastised herself, struggling to remind herself why she had tried to push Eren back together with him in the first place. If it couldn’t be her, then maybe it was better if it was him—though she had gotten in the way of that as well, hadn’t she?

Her eyes traced over the sharp curve of his jaw, over his brandy-gold eyes and dark brown lashes, over his pink lips as they barely brushed over the notes he mouthed out—and she supposed she could see why Eren wanted him. What Eren saw in him. She knew that he was a good man, that he was resourceful, genuine, funny—cocky to a flaw, though he had mostly outgrown that—and most of all, kind-hearted. 

She didn’t remember taking him to that bedroom, but she wondered, for the most transient of moments, if he had been thinking of Eren, too, like she had. Or whether, as his hands had roamed over her skin, he had been thinking about her instead—

Jean’s eyes snapped up to meet hers, as if suddenly aware he was being watched, and she almost flinched in surprise. _Right._ She waved her thoughts away as if batting cobwebs from her brain, met his confused countenance, and managed a smile for him. A real, genuine smile, before she walked away with the others. 

“Good luck, Jean.”

  


* * *

As it turned out, to everyone’s relief, the luck had been just as unnecessary as Armin had stated.

There had been an expected slow start, as their band was introduced over the loudspeaker and people started drifting over to flock before the stage, still talking and sipping drinks. However, by the third song the atmosphere had become electric, snapping and crackling with energy and sound—earth-shattering, heart-bursting, air-trembling sound. The throngs of people gathered by the stage were enraptured, bouncing and swinging to the beat as if laced to puppet strings on the end of Reiner’s drumsticks. The lead singer was every bit the energetic vision that Mikasa had anticipated—rolling with every riff from Ymir’s guitar as it rippled through the audience, head tossing with every thudding, rib-rattling beat as sweat flew from his bangs, belting out notes as he slammed his back against Jean’s and leaned on him. The bassist was focused on his own part, lip bit and fingers flying, but he leaned back into Eren, sinking lower with him as he shouted out and held the final word of the line. He boosted him right back up once the guitar solo started, and Eren clapped a hand over Jean’s forehead and planted a messy kiss on the side of his head, met with some whooping from the audience, before he headed back toward Ymir.

Mikasa loitered back near the bar, away from the thick of it, and she crossed her legs as she sipped her drink. Amaretto sour, like usual. She eyed the empty glass beside her elbow on the bar counter, hoping to savor this one instead of knocking it back as quickly as the first. In her defense, she really had been thirsty—it was still so damn hot, even after the sun had set. It had been a good idea, she mused with another sip, to slip a well-known cover in as the second song to engage the audience, before following up with some of their most popular originals. Her gaze skimmed the high ceilings, the exposed pipes, which danced in the flashing blue lights, seeming to sink in and out of the shadows—it was a nice club, even if it wasn’t particularly high end. They had come a long way from half-assing covers at skeevy dive bars on the outskirts of the city. It made her proud, and given the show they were cranking out, it was more than deserved.

The swathe of bobbing heads before her obscured much of her view, but she still picked through the audience, hoping to spot her friends. Armin had been dragged away from the bar by Connie and Sasha, who were hoping to worm through the crowds to the front row. After a few seconds she spotted it, nearby and to her left—a tiny blonde girl stomping her way up onto a table to be seen above the crowd. Historia swayed to the side and nearly stumbled off the edge, before a man with a shaved head—who she presumed to be Connie—wrapped his arms around her calves to hold her steady. Mikasa stifled a chuckle behind the rim of her glass, wondering exactly how many drinks her friend had had.

“Hell yeah, Ymir! Tear this _fucking place down!_ ” she screamed and thrust a fist into the air, loud enough to be heard by Mikasa. That seemed to answer her question.

Ymir was following orders even if she didn’t see the blonde howling for demolition, swinging her guitar around as her body followed. She stamped a thick boot onto a stage speaker as she grinded out the rest of her solo, and ended up kicking it on its side when she spun off of it. It looked like Sasha had joined Connie in trying to pin Historia’s feet down, and Mikasa was about to laugh when a thick clammy hand clamped down over her fishnets.

“Hey there,” a deep voice slurred, and the reek of his breath told her how close the man was leaning, without even having to turn her head. “You come here all alone, baby? You need some company?”

She slowly turned to face the hulking shadow to her right, expression blank, and she curled her fingers over two of his own. In a split second, she had ripped both of them back with a sickening crunch, and her black eyes were wide with a bone-chilling stare. A garbled cry burst from the man’s throat and he fell to one knee, face wrenching with agony, and she moved to grasp his other two fingers, wielding them above his face.

“My girl’s in prison,” she spoke coldly and evenly, tightening her grip on the beefy fingers she held. “And if you touch me again, I will be joining her there.”

The man ripped his fingers from her own the moment she gave him any slack, tears beading at the corners of his eyes, and he stumbled away to get to his feet. The man’s voice cracked as he spat out something similar to “crazy bitch”, before he shoved past a couple people, cradling his hand, and vanished into the crowd. She raised her drink to her lips as she lifted her eyebrows, turning her attention back to the stage.

Eren was singing again, sliding on his knees toward the guitarist, who stopped him with a boot to the chest. Eren beamed up at Ymir, looking for all the world like nothing but adrenaline was rushing through his veins. Dramatic as hell, and the crowd just ate it up. Mikasa smiled softly to herself, thinking that, his pre-med education aside, performance really was his forte.

The next songs came and went, and Mikasa pondered her choice of words. Did she really consider Annie ‘her’ girl anymore? Not much had changed since she had woken that morning—besides a confession from Jean and a snippet of advice from Armin. And she realized, with something that made her a little shaky in the legs, that she didn’t know if she still really thought of Annie at all, besides to stew in resentment. It wasn’t fair to Annie, and she had no idea what the blonde girl had endured to be roped into this, but with new information springing up to distract her at every turn, Annie was on a backburner. What were the only things she had thought of since waking up, whether bitterly or pleasantly, aside from Armin’s conspiracy? Jean and Eren. Eren and Jean.

“Alright, we’re taking a short break, but we’ll be right back after this!” Eren’s voice jostled her from her reverie as he shouted into the mic. The black-haired girl jumped to her feet looking for the stage exit. She had forgotten it wasn’t a concert so much as a casual gig, and there would be a brief intermission—intended for resting as much as for networking. “Be sure and catch us if any of y’all wanna mingle.”

Eren stuck the microphone back in its stand and stepped back, wiping his forehead with a smile, before heading backstage. He patted the sweat from his jaw and brow with his shirt, plucked a water bottle from his bag, and got to work gulping it down the moment he unscrewed the top. He was absently aware of Jean pacing past him further backstage to take a phone call, of Reiner barreling right out of the stage exit and into the crowd with a grin on his face. He rummaged around for a moment to find a towel, dabbing at his face again, before releasing a long shaky breath and sitting down to rest.

After a couple moments had passed, he was up on his feet again, drawn as much by his desire to see his friends as he was by Ymir’s clipped cadence, and he turned the corner, following the sound of her argument.

“It’s not damaged, okay? I’ve got cash in the back if you need it, but I swear, the thing ain’t broke,” the tall woman bickered with who Eren figured was a stage hand.

He realized that they were probably discussing the speaker Ymir had knocked over—it wasn’t theirs, after all. The man muttered something quietly, and she shot back, “Okay, but could you hear it for the rest of the set? It _works_.”

Eren was contemplating whether or not to cut in when the man slumped his shoulders in defeat. Only Eren caught the relief that washed over her face when he dropped it, but the stage hand peered back over at her to mumble a question.

“Hm? Why?” she repeated aloud, before sheepishly reaching to rub the back of her neck as she smiled. “Oh, uh, sorry, watching me knock stuff around just makes my girl hot.”

The brunette boy rolled his eyes with a smile as he slipped between the two of them, before making his way outside. His break had bought everyone just enough time to push to the front of the exit, and he felt another ecstatic surge of gratitude the moment he saw their faces. The set had gone better than he had ever expected, and he was struck with such bliss that it bubbled over at the seams.

“Can you believe that?!” he laughed almost incredulously, before lunging at Armin. The blonde boy ducked to the side, and Eren planted a sloppy kiss on his cheek. “Mwah! That was incredible!”

He lurched toward Mikasa next—who had little time to dodge, even if she had wanted to—and kissed her full on the lips.

It couldn’t have lasted more than a second, but her heart clenched so sharply in her chest she swore it burst. Frozen in place, she could feel the sharp exhale against her skin, his nose pressed to her own, breath harsh from his exhilaration. She could feel his sweaty cheek flush against hers, could feel his heartbeat in his palms as he held her face. She could feel the warmth and softness of his lips, even when they were smashed so haphazardly against hers.

The smell of smoke and flesh and sweat filled her nose when she inhaled in surprise, and despite the reek of the vape-filled venue and the stickiness of her own sweat and the fact that Eren’s mind was absolutely addled by elation—for once, everything felt right.

The warmth pressed to her lips was gone in an instant, and her tongue swept at the edge of her mouth—and maybe it was the lightheaded giddiness of amaretto and disbelief, maybe it was her newfound craving for the salty-sweet mixture of her drink and Eren’s sweat—but before she could stop herself her palms were clasped flushed to either side of Eren’s face, and she pulled him back to kiss him again.

 _Shit._

This kiss was even shorter than the first, and she pushed him back away from her the instant she understood what she had done… in front of everyone, nonetheless. Eren barked out a laugh, likely thinking she was just as swept away with excitement for their success as he was, but his face slowly started to fall as he watched her blanch.

“Uh… Mikasa?” he released a confused and awkward laugh as he lifted a hand to scratch his head, caught off guard by her grave expression.

Before he had any more time to think about it, Ymir slammed into his back and swung an arm tight around his neck, still as exuberant as she was winded. 

“If we finish up that strong—if we play _like that_ in the second half—Jesus Christ, we’re fucking golden,” the words clambered up her throat in a rush of breath. “You fuckin’ _killed_ it, Eren!”

Historia, with her fingers lightly perched on Ymir’s other arm, started to say the same, eyes bright—before a man none of them recognized walked into the center of the circle, sizing up Eren and Ymir. The man was short, with glossy cropped hair as black as an oil spill and cold, cut-steel eyes. The group fell silent, engulfed in the white-noise chatter of the club.

“Owner wants to offer the band, and anyone else in their company, complimentary refreshments,” he spoke crisply, but something about the gaze he regarded them with conveyed that it took everything in his power not to slip into a disinterested drawl.

“Refreshments?” Eren asked, regarding the stranger suspiciously.

“Easy, tiger. _Mid-show_ refreshments, not post-show. Some second-wind energy, nothing that’ll stop you from playing,” he crossed his arm.

Everyone in the group swiveled their heads around to check with each other, though really the invitation rested with the bandmates. It was difficult to turn down the hospitality, particularly halfway through a fantastic set they wanted to finish—and maybe the owner knew exactly what he was doing by proposing they meet now.

“Where’s Reiner?” Eren asked, and the freckled girl just shook her head.

“No idea. Where’s Jean?”

Eren just shrugged. “He was taking a call, last I checked.”

“Huh? From who?”

“His mom or Marco, I imagine. Nobody else calls him.”

The girl snickered a bit at that. “Alright, well, looks like that leaves us. ‘Tori, you coming?”

The blonde girl nodded eagerly. Eren glanced over at the rest of the group, and they all seemed hesitant to agree… except for Mikasa, who stepped forward with a nod. Whether or not she was interested in any refreshments, she would come along to check on Eren. He gave her an appreciative smile.

The short man appraised the four of them, eyebrows raised, before leading them to an open door. The underground staircase beyond was dimly lit with strips of red neon, and it dropped off into an eerie, alizarin-tinted blackness.

“Well?” the man inquired, unimpressed by the nervous hitch in their step as they stalled before the doorway. “Go on.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yikes, Scoob, what has the gang gotten into this time? The events of chapter 3 are actually what originally inspired this fic to begin with, and I’m already having so much fun writing it!! This chapter you just read was still pretty expository in a way, thanks to obligatory contextual flashbacks and developing feelings, but the action starts rolling in a lot faster in coming chapters.
> 
> Hefty thanks to my wonderful pal @vxxv (check out her work if you love yourself) for her encouragement with these big-ass chapters in these trying times!! And thank you again to everyone reading as well! Comments and kudos are always appreciated! And yeah, I unabashedly crave validation!
> 
> Feel free to connect with me on tumblr @albatrost! See you guys next chapter!


	3. Spicy Potato Soft Taco

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Carnage, cut rails, and raw dogging. Things escalate quickly, in just about every way that they can.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Howdy!! I’m back again with another chapter! I’ve got more to say, but I’ll just save most of it for the end notes!  
> Quick disclaimer, though: don’t do coke and please have protected sex lmao

The stale stench of cigar smoke was thick in her nostrils as the heel of her boot struck concrete. Mikasa paused at the base of the staircase, blinking as her eyes adjusted to the darkness, until she felt Historia bump against her back, and she gingerly stepped away. Following Eren into the room, she found herself slinking instinctively closer to his form—or at the very least, closer to the dark slope she presumed was Eren’s shoulder. It was hard to make anything out in the dull crimson glow. Darkness aside, the room was shrouded in wreaths of smoke, catching the lurid light of the neon tubing. The short man who had led the four of them down emerged from the dark staircase behind them, stalking to the front of the group, and the clouds shifted like scorned wraiths as he batted them away from his face. He led them toward a dark gathering of shapes in the center of the room: a clean sofa, adjacent to a glass coffee table and settled directly across from an armchair.

The black-haired girl squinted to discern the face of the figure sitting in the chair. The room was sapped of all but scarlet, yet she could still distinguish some details: light eyes, light hair. Blonde, if she had to guess, neatly cropped and groomed, with an undercut. His smile was charismatic, if not somewhat unnerving in its inscrutability—barely more than a curve of the lip on his handsome but smoke-cloaked countenance. He was so hidden by haze that she doubted she would be able to pick him out of a crowd if she saw him again. Briefly, she wondered if that was the purpose of the murky obfuscation to begin with—a thin veil of anonymity—but she reckoned it was just as likely that they had no windows to crack.

A tall figure loitered about a foot behind the chair, and the man seemed to inhale sharply the moment they all walked into sight, but never moved besides that. The short man gestured for them to sit, waving a hand toward the sofa, before he receded to stand behind the seated man as well.

“Thank you, Levi,” the man nodded once in gratitude, before he turned toward the four awkwardly struggling to squeeze onto the couch without bumping the table. His voice cut cleanly through the thick air, and it was only then that they all seemed to notice how quiet it was down here, ears still ringing from the commotion upstairs. “And thank you, all of you, for accepting my hospitality.”

Eren laughed and shook his head, stumbling over his words in his excitement. It felt like they’d been waiting for a break like this from the start, and to have the thanks of the venue’s owner was no small praise. “Oh, no, thank _you_. For booking us, and everything… We used to come to shows at The Expedition all the time, it’s like a dream to play here.”

The man seemed amused by Eren’s forwardness, and he greeted his enthusiasm with a chuckle. “Well, you all came highly recommended, and I was personally very impressed when I saw you at the Shattered Walls.”

Ymir stuttered out a thank you as Eren beamed. He saw Mikasa’s head swivel out of the corner of his eye, as if she was hoping to meet his gaze, but he didn’t need to look her in the eye to understand what she was feeling. The girl had practically had her haunches raised since they had breached the doorway—and while he valued her concern, the eerie atmosphere wasn’t even close to enough to dissuade him from the opportunity to build connections and network with the man, and he couldn’t help the eager thrill that coursed through him.

“It’s an interesting name, by the way—Fall of Gaea.” The man mused. “How did you think of that?”

Ymir barked out a laugh and jabbed a thumb toward the man beside her. “Eren here was really into Greek mythology back in high school. Titans and gods and all that.”

Eren smiled sheepishly and rubbed the back of his neck as the man before them nodded in understanding and something akin to approval. “Eren, was it?” he asked curiously, and after Eren nodded, he looked expectantly at the rest of them until they introduced themselves. “Well, it’s an honor to meet you all. You can call me Mr. Smith.”

 _Fakest name I’ve ever heard_ , Mikasa raised a brow accusingly, but kept her critique internal.

Mr. Smith ushered toward the tall man behind him, who pulled out and presented a small bag of fine white powder. As the bag was dangled and dropped into his palm like a ripe fruit, he regarded the four of them with a careful expression. “I imagine everyone is interested in refreshments?”

They glanced about amongst themselves. Historia tapped on Ymir’s shoulder.

“Could I have just the tail end of yours? I dunno if I want a whole one,” she pouted convincingly, all wide azure eyes, and she earned a loud kiss on the forehead in response.

“Sure thing, honey.” The freckled girl looked up to meet the man’s eyes again. “I think that’ll just be three, then.”

Eren gave an animated nod, and he turned to Mikasa for confirmation.

In hindsight, she wasn’t sure why she agreed—she had never dabbled in coke before, after all, and she wasn’t sure that this dark basement with their vaguely-threatening company was the place to start. Maybe it was the alcohol swimming in her stomach, or the shakiness of the day’s events still rattling in her bones, or the bitterness still steeping within her whenever she thought of Annie—something that had left her feeling off-kilter for weeks—or maybe it was for Eren. To see him smile, to help him establish some mutual trust with this man whose thoughts he valued. Either way, she found herself nodding back, with little reservation at all.

“The bar down here is open too, for anyone interested,” Mr. Smith carried on conversationally, pouring a portion of cocaine onto the table and cutting it with an almost debonair flourish. “Although I do make a point to know and establish relationships with the groups I host at my venues, as I’m sure you may have guessed… I do have a somewhat ulterior motive for calling this meeting.”

The hairs prickled on the back of Mikasa’s neck at his admission, and she jolted forward ever so slightly, before Eren’s hand clapping onto her thigh stopped her. The brunette was staring ahead evenly, without suspicion, waiting for the man to continue.

“I’m certain you’ll be impressed with my product,” he started, tilting his head indicatively as he molded the first pristine rail of powder. “But… I deal in information, as well. You would have to live under a rock to not have heard of berserk, so I’ll move straight to the point.”

He glanced up and skimmed his eyes over the row of them, expression enigmatical, as if evaluating their reactions. “There’s a new drug on the market with the potential to negatively affect my businesses, and it just so happens that virtually no one in this entire city knows a single thing about it.”

“Now,” he lifted his hands almost defensively. “I wouldn’t regularly engage in reconnaissance work over a new product that competes with my own… but due to the violent nature of the news stories, I worry that it poses a greater threat to business in my venues. Even if it hasn’t reared its head in this area yet, it could only be a matter of time.”

Mr. Smith finished arranging the white powder, glowing pink in the neon light, and gestured toward the table invitingly. He carried on, “If this endangers my patrons in any way and I fail to guarantee their safety, you can understand how my reputation would suffer. This would drive away casual business and club frequenters, certainly, but the association risks alienating my wealthy and respectable clients, who invest in my product exclusively.”

As he talked, Ymir leaned over to the table first, snorting a hefty portion of the rail but leaving a fair amount for her girlfriend, before whipping her head up and leaning back against the sofa with a soft wolf whistle. She nodded approvingly as she mumbled something to Historia about the purity, and the small blonde just smiled, before eagerly poking her head down near the table and taking her own bump. Eren nodded along, looking very serious.

When the dealer paused for a minute, Eren hesitantly questioned, “Uh, by the way, Mr. Smith, about the product, this won’t… do anything to my voice, before the second act, right?”

A slow smile stretched over the blonde man’s features at his concern, and he merely shook his head. “Of course not, Eren. Your throat may feel a little dry, perhaps, but if you drink plenty of water,” he waved at Levi to bring water bottles from the bar against the wall, “you should be fine. The kick of energy really boosts the second half of the performance, I always find.”

Mikasa had leaned down toward the table while they chatted, heart pounding in her throat, figuring now was as good a time as any. Attempting to mirror Ymir’s form, finger pressed to her other nostril, she swept up the rail in one go.

The acrid burn was immediate, singeing the inside of her nose and bringing tears to her eyes. She tried to blink away the stinging wetness as she sat back up. Her nostril was wet too, and she sniffed, bringing a curled finger in front of her nose so that it wouldn’t run, and swallowed around the post-nasal drip that had started up in the back of her throat. It left a synthetic flavor in the back of her mouth, and she felt her gullet going dry as she gulped around it. Despite how unpleasant the taste, and how her hammering heart rate now felt even faster than before, inexplicably, her mood was lightening.

“Anyways, sorry about that,” the green-eyed boy apologized for his interruption. “So, where do we come in again?”

“It’s been my thought process,” he continued, tone lifting a bit as he gestured at the coffee table, and he watched Eren lean down obediently, “that the type of people willing to partake in this form of entertainment may be more likely to know something than the general public. I also feel as if it establishes a form of mutual confidentiality between us, if you will.”

The ploy was clever enough, and the four on the couch offered gestures of assent and understanding. When Mr. Smith said no more, they looked between each other, until Ymir finally raised her voice.

“Yeah, no, of course… So… While we’re just as in-the-dark as you are about everything, it turns out that, uh, we had a friend who’s a berserk dealer.”

The man’s brows shot upwards at the news, and he leaned in a little bit closer. Shadows shifted in his eyes, and they reminded Mikasa of the surface of a lake—fresh and shiny and clear from above, even if it was impossible to see what beings slithered and writhed beneath that reflective film. “Are you talking about the one on the news? Annie Leonhardt?”

Perhaps it was the newfound boldness she felt surging through her, but all at once, Mikasa was struck with a desire to interfere. Although she reminded herself she didn’t necessarily have an obligation to Annie—and she wasn’t sure what Mr. Smith could do to her that the police couldn’t—that hair-raising paranoid suspicion was back, and she cut Ymir off.

“She’s in prison,” Mikasa blurted out. “No calls or visitors, so nobody’s able to reach her.” It was a bold-faced lie, and she noticed her fingers were indiscernibly shaking with the fear that any one of her friends may point that out. They’d all seen her on the phone with her just that morning, after all. Mr. Smith’s brow was quirked as he stared at her, all but soaking her in, and she realized that for this to look like anything other than resistance, she would have to offer something in return.

“But we have a friend from Ragako, and he’s upstairs. It’s a tiny town, he might know something.” As far as Mikasa knew, Connie knew nothing, so this was as safe a bet as any.

“Yeah,” Eren chimed in helpfully, looking a bit more animated than he had a few minutes prior. “We can go get him and bring him down, if you like.”

The owner turned back to Eren and granted him a pleased smile. “Yes, Eren, I’d appreciate that. Levi, escort them to the top of the stairs and wait for their return.”

The black-haired man gave a gruff nod, and Eren and Mikasa got to their feet, prepared to follow him out. The girl spared one last glance at Ymir and Historia still settled on the couch as the drug dealer addressed them again—for all she knew, her efforts were in vain and Mr. Smith would interrogate them about Annie the second she was out of sight—but at least she wouldn’t be complicit. She had no doubt that her friends would at least preserve the lie that Annie was inaccessible, if only not to expose Mikasa.

Once they had reached the top of the stairs, Levi wordlessly cracked the door for them, and all at once, they were immediately immersed in a blinding world of light and sound and sensation once more. The club had music blaring on speakers during the band’s hiatus, and each bass-heavy blast shuddered through their bodies, louder than the clamor of the crowds around them, trembling in their bones like ripples through water. Strobes and spotlight beams flashed white and blue, burning through their blown pupils every time one splashed color and brilliance across their faces. It was too much. Under their heightened senses, the sheer and raw intensity of the sensation had them curling back against the door, which was slammed shut behind them.

“I can’t see shit,” Mikasa shouted into Eren’s ear—partially because, at ground level, there was no way they could pick Connie out of the massive swarm of thronging bodies—but also because she wasn’t entirely sure she wasn’t going blind after staring slack-jawed into a strobe light.

“Same here,” he all but screamed back, lifting a hand to shade his eyes, but he seemed to be getting better adjusted. “Let’s go up on the stage, we may be able to find him from up there.”

Nodding her head, she followed him, bustling past tight-knit bundles of bodies, and finally they reached the foot of the entrance. Initial shock aside, the longer they walked, Mikasa began to feel more appreciative of the music. The vibrations coursing through her body, trembling out to the numb and tingly tips of her fingers, obscured other sensations—the throb of the beat through her chest far overpowered the impact of her foot on the ground—and for all she felt she could have been floating, suspended in a euphoric weightlessness. Perhaps she _was_ floating—every time she blinked, it seemed like they were five feet ahead of where they had last been, with no memory of moving her feet—and _shit_ , maybe she was further gone than she’d thought.

Only the dim backstage lights illuminated them now, the soft warm glow welcoming again, and Eren sprinted up to the edge of the stage, right behind the curtain. Gingerly, he peeked past the edge of it, trying not to draw any attention to himself, and scanned the crowd.

“Do you see anything yet?” Mikasa inquired, feeling her chest swell with even more happiness the longer she stared at the back of his head.

“No… I found Sasha… she’s gotten something to eat at the bar, but she’s alone… Maybe we should go ask her?”

Mikasa sidled up beside Eren, wanting to spare the room a glance herself, and her spirits soared as she stared over the crowd, pressed up against him—on top of the world, in every sense. Giddily, dizzyingly euphoric, the warmth of the man to her front nearly bringing tears to her eyes with how her throat clenched in joy, the expanse of her bright and blue-speckled domain spread thrashing before her eyes. Unstoppable.

All of these thoughts somehow brought her back to earlier that afternoon with Armin, and his advice. Admittance was something that she had never considered an option before, but she felt her body swelling up with some confidence, some fearlessness, some disregard to consequence that she had never experienced before. The bursting sensation fizzed and bubbled up inside of her like the froth of champagne, cork ready to pop—and there was some reason she had decided that she wasn’t going to say anything tonight, but she couldn’t put her finger on it. It was in the back of her mind now, murky and foggy, while the present and the man before her were clear as cut crystal, and the foam bubbled over.

Eren had turned and was walking backstage again, likely with the end goal of pushing through the crowds and confronting Sasha, but as he approached the dimly lit corridor, she caught him by the wrist. He faced her with a curious expression. Snagged in the memory of her discussion with Armin, and for some reason, how he had likened her romantic feelings metaphorically to Eren’s fashion taste, the words surged up and out of her—

“Eren,” she grasped his shoulders in her palms, and, with every bit of conviction she could muster, confessed, “I fucking hate your pants.”

The boy froze, time moving sluggishly as he blinked at her ardent confession—and the slippery gears in her mind started spinning to a halt as well, because wait, that wasn’t exactly what she had meant to say—before his brows cinched together and he almost pouted. He reached down and patted at the dark acid wash absentmindedly. “Uh, yeah, I know that,” he frowned. “Again, rude.”

“Take them off,” she blurted out to follow up—and Christ, that wasn’t exactly the direction she was trying to head in either, why couldn’t she stop talking about the fucking _pants_ —and the throb of her pulse was so loud in her ears that she almost didn’t hear his reply.

Surprised, he barked out a laugh, before shaking his head, pupils wide as saucers. “I can’t change, I don’t have any other pants here.”

“It’s okay, ‘t’s fine,” her tongue was numb and loose, felt wrong tapping at the back of her teeth as she spoke, and the base of her skull was crawling with something ecstatic. She decided to set the record straight as best she could. “I don’t want you… in pants, anyways, I want you in me.”

In the seconds after she had said it, she wondered if her cheeks were flushed anywhere near as darkly as the tips of his ears—and then, the rest of his face after that, spreading down his neck. His expression was one of wide-eyed and lip-biting disbelief. She didn’t think he had ever looked at her before that way—with something so precariously suppressed beneath his shock, something red-blooded and racing-heart—and she wanted to see more of it, to unearth it. However, the chance slipped away when he shook his head abruptly, as if denying himself the chance to believe what he was hearing and trying to laugh it off.

“You’re really fucking high, huh,” he chuckled, giving her a chance to explain away a slip of the tongue.

 _Yes_ , she thought, noticing how the edges of her vision were swimming with dark technicolor blotches—and she wondered if the alcohol from earlier had somehow intensified the high, if that was responsible for how remarkably immortal she felt—but that wasn’t the point.

“No,” she said.

“…I’m really fucking high and this isn’t actually happening?” he ventured.

He tilted his jaw as he swallowed, slowly, dryly—in anticipation.

“No,” she murmured again, shaking her head. She kept her gaze trained on him steadily, pupils so wide that her dark eyes shone pitch-black, and finally loosed the words she felt like she’d been gulping down forever. “No, I—I’ve wanted this… wanted you… for a long time.”

He froze. That expression of disbelief from before was back with a vengeance, coupled with curiosity, confusion—and something dangerously excitable. Despite the deafening beat cuffing their ears and the way the ground shivered beneath them, thumping with each thud of the crowd’s feet, the world suddenly felt bizarrely still. Mikasa had finally stumbled into her confession, at long last—and rather than the smothering dread and fluttering heartbeat she had anticipated, relief washed over her. Perhaps it was a lack of sobriety—and the plausible deniability that that promised later didn’t hurt her confidence, either—but she felt relaxed. She had said her piece, and even if that ended in Eren gently turning her down, it wouldn’t rest like a weight between them now—

A warm palm clasping her cheek slowed her train of thought. She trailed her gaze from his wrist and up his arm, toward his face. His brow was creased—testament to his confusion, because surely this seemed like it was coming out of nowhere—and he bit his lip as though thinking hard about something, but his eyes raked over her, dwelled on her lips.

And she realized that Eren wasn’t turning her down.

He still seemed reluctant to believe what he was hearing, as if his next move was still hinging on a punchline or clarification, but there was something hopeful there as well—that same hot-blooded look from before, something raw and untapped and unexplored, if only because he hadn’t ever expected this to actually happen. He also seemed perplexed, as if there was something he was struggling to remember in light of this staggering confession. Mikasa figured that it was Jean. She realized, with a sinking guilt not nearly heavy enough to crush her dizzy high, that she wasn’t going to remind him.

Her heart leapt into her throat, and she figured now was as good a time as any. If there was any doubt for her intentions, any room for misinterpretation, she swept it away when she slowly twined her arms around his neck and leaned in to kiss him. 

For a moment, her lips pressed chastely against his. The giddy gears in his mind whirled too quickly in his coke-and-adrenaline-addled daze, thoughts slipping through his fingers, any voice of reason drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears, still in utter disbelief. Any thinking was submerged beneath _feeling_ , his senses a live wire—and even if this felt impossible, it was _tangible_. The comforting scent of her perfume chasing away the musty backstage smoke, the deliciously promising heat of her body only inches from his, the softness of her familiar lips against his own—things, admittedly, he had thought about before.

Mikasa was ready to draw back—because maybe she’d gone too far, maybe this push was what he needed to clear his head—before he took her bottom lip in his own and sucked it softly, his other hand lifting up to brush over the curve of her hip and bring her in closer.

She released a soft, breathless sound the moment he drew her in, all but melting into his arms as he pulled her flush against him, and she kissed back ardently. Her hand slid up the back of his exposed neck, fingers threading through the soft dark hair at his nape. His kisses were slow but starved, her mouth so soft and wet and inviting as he dove to claim her lips again and again, fingers curling into the fabric of her dress. And even through clothes, the heat between their bodies was blistering, dizzying—pressed so tightly together that it made her weak in the knees. She found herself stumbling back on shaky legs and dragging him with her until her back hit a wall. Anticipation coiled in her belly as his hand slid down to the hem of her dress, gripping her thigh. She unconsciously arched into his touch, raising her hips to grind against his own—and she caught the surprised hitch in his breath, before a low sound reverberated out of his throat.

His lips enveloped her own, blush-pink and glistening, and the kiss grew sloppier. Their chests heaved for quick breaths between hot, wet kisses, tongues delving past each other’s lips, heartbeats thundering in their ears, swallowing down soft moans. Her head was spinning, the room swirling around her as touch and taste overwhelmed her senses, as she lapped up his breathless groans. Above all else was the hand he had planted on her thigh—so hot it could singe—sending shivers through her. As the kissing continued, she became more swept away than she had realized—as she shifted and rubbed her thighs together and leaned into his touch—and the stirrings of warmth in her core became nearly unbearable.

For a moment, as she drank in the sounds of his eagerness, Mikasa wondered if this was going in the direction she hoped it was—before she pushed her hips hard against his again, and found her answer. The rigid curve of his cock pressed flush to her hip, straining taut against the front of his jeans. The realization sent thrills shuddering down her spine. The heat and thickness of it alone had pleasure curling in her gut, throbbing in her cunt. Her mouth went dry, heart hammering in her chest, and she reached down to grasp his wrist.

Their lips parted for a moment, foreheads still pressed together, and he met her eyes almost quizzically. She swallowed slowly. His shadowed eyes never left hers, the thin rim of striking green stretching around lust-blown pupils, as she guided his hand in between her thighs. And she listened as his breath became just a little more ragged when she led his fingertips beneath her skirt and into her underwear.

He groaned aloud the moment he felt how wet she already was, and she felt his cock pulse hard against her. It was all she could do to bite back a cry as his fingers slid smoothly over her lips, spreading her open, before slipping in between. She tossed her head back against the wall with a soft thump, a whimper leaving her lips, as Eren dipped two of his fingertips shallowly into her wetness and slowly stroked back up over her clit. She trembled with each stroke, letting him slowly unravel her—reveling in the divine heat and friction slipping over her that made her knees buckle. Mikasa caught herself weakly rolling her hips each time his fingers laved over her sensitive clit. And while she was overwhelmed—by both sensation and sheer exhilaration—she still noticed his lips gravitating back to her face, gently sweeping gossamer-light kisses across her jaw.

It was difficult to remember the last time she’d felt so breathless and invigorated—so positively enraptured by someone. Tentatively, he slipped those two fingers inside her, sliding in knuckle-deep and curling. Grinding the back of her head against the wall and biting her lip, she jerked as his fingers pressed into that sensitive spot within her, a hot jolt of pleasure sluicing down her spine. He began steadily pumping his fingers in and out of her, glistening with her wetness, taking her apart so sweetly. Mikasa clenched tightly around him, squeezing deliciously hard each time his fingertips pushed roughly into that sensitive area, so wet that it was dripping down his knuckles—

A door creaked open and curtly slammed shut from around the corner, followed by two muffled voices in conversation. The two instantly froze, eyes slowly widening as the footsteps clacked ever closer—and it was only in that moment, jostled from their reverie, that both of them realized they were still in public, only feet away from the visible edge of the stage, and that it likely didn’t bode well to be caught knuckle-deep and dry-humping by the stagehands.

Eren and Mikasa stared at each other with a dire intensity for a moment, dumbfounded and desperate for the other to come up with a solution, their gunfire heartbeats betraying their panic. Eventually Mikasa turned her alarmed gaze from Eren’s own, catching sight of a brassy doorknob out of the corner of her eye. A supply closet, by the looks of it.

“ _Go_ ,” she whispered, smacking Eren in the side and frantically ushering him toward the door. He was quick to nod and pull his fingers from her, nearly tripping over himself as he clambered into the closet. She stumbled in after him in a frenzy, slamming the door shut behind her.

To neither’s surprise, the space was remarkably narrow, at least from what they could feel out in the dark. Eren was the first to grasp onto the light’s pull cord in his fumbling. A quick tug on the string of tiny silver beads, and a single dimly-flickering bulb illuminated the space. The dark-haired girl took the opportunity to glance back at the door, visibly slouching with relief when she saw a lock.

No sooner had she turned it before Eren’s hand was clasping her face again and drawing her back into another kiss. The fervor of it surprised her—but maybe Eren was just as invigorated as she was, just as needy and thrilled and astonished as he rode out this high. She smashed her lips back against his, grinding their bodies together and pleased to feel how rock-hard he still was.

He drew back from the kiss, cheeks smattered red from exertion as much as from exhilaration, and he breathed out a laugh. “This is insane,” he shook his head as his hands slid up the back of her thighs and smoothed over her ass, and he planted a swift kiss on her mouth before continuing. “I mean, until this morning, with the whole you-fucking-Jean thing, I _definitely_ thought you were gay,” he nodded sincerely.

Mikasa started in surprise—because that she hadn’t seen coming—before lifting her brows and breathing out a soft laugh incredulously. “Huh. Until like five minutes ago I thought you were probably gay.”

Eren blinked back at her for a second, before snorted out a laugh. His hand slipped down to cradle the back of her neck, and he kissed her again. She slipped a tentative hand between them and wrapped it around the thick hardness at the front of his pants, marveling at his sharp inhale when she squeezed. Her shiny black hair poured through his fingers like an oil spill as he clutched the base of her skull, breaths mingling and mouths meshing, and her fingers blindly grasped for his belt buckle.

“Hey, wait, wait a minute,” he broke their kiss abruptly, drawing back with furrowed brows and a confused expression. “But I dated a girl before. Annie—”

“—would make a great beard, and you really weren’t _that_ pissed when I fucked her, so,” Mikasa shrugged, unclasping his belt and pulling it loose.

“…Okay, that’s fair,” he shrugged back, and Mikasa snickered. He smiled at her fondly for a moment, in a way that was so familiar yet so distinct. Some clenched-jaw, tight-chested affection swelled up inside her at his expression, and she found herself smiling back when he leaned over to plant a kiss on her cheek. Eren trailed feather-light kisses from her cheek to her throat, before softly sucking and nipping at the tender flesh there.

As she clumsily unzipped his fly, she leaned back again, baring her neck and releasing a throaty moan as she felt his breath ghosting across her skin. However, she realized, with a shock that walloped into her, that based on what he said, he _did_ remember Jean. And he was doing this anyways. It was possible that he wasn’t in the most crystal state of mind, and, knowing Eren, he didn’t always think before acting, but if there was one thing she knew him to be, it was earnest. Even if she was certain this wasn’t something he would do to get back at Jean, she struggled to understand why he’d still follow through _in spite_ of Jean. It was something she wanted to dwell on longer, but it ebbed away the longer his teeth gently grazed her throat, the longer his tongue lapped over the strong tendons of her neck. Her own teeth bit down on her lip as she reached into his underwear, fingers curling over hot, hard flesh, and she drew his cock out of his pants. Her clit throbbed from just feeling the weight and warmth of it in her palm, and she squeezed her thighs together as she released a quivering breath. Slowly, she stroked over the smooth skin from base to tip, brushing her fingers softly over the flushed head, already dripping wet, and listened as Eren’s groans washed over her throat. 

She was so aroused it was nearly excruciating, and she couldn’t wait any longer. Besides—how long did they have until the second act?

Pulling her hand back, she lifted her dress and hooked her fingers in her underwear, slipping them to the ground and stepping out of them in one fluid motion. Drawing Eren back into a desperate and breathless kiss, she stamped the heel of her boot on the opposite wall—there was room for that, at least, despite how bent her knee was. Mikasa barely managed to blurt out words in between messy kisses.

“I think we should, um, I need you to—mm, to fuck me, want you—god, I want you to fuck me,” she struggled to gasp out around Eren’s lips, with all the same grace and foresight with which she had delivered her confession earlier.

Eren’s hand left its perch in her hair, and she could hear him patting at his jean pockets. When she felt him lean back, she opened her eyes. He winced with a worried expression. “I, uh, I don’t have anything on me.”

She shook her head, the words tumbling from her lips rapidly. “I’m on the pill, it’s alright, ‘t’s cool.”

“Are, um, are you clean?” he asked with pause, grimacing a little as if worried the question would offend. “I mean, I’m, like, eighty-nine percent sure that I am, but I thought that I may as well let you know that—”

“Exactly as clean as Jean,” she replied without thinking, and then immediately cursed at herself.

She expected Eren to be taken aback—because even if he wasn’t doing this to spite Jean, surely this was a low blow, at the very least _goading him on_ with Jean’s infidelity—but to her surprise, he barked out a laugh. “You know what? Good point.”

It puzzled her, how ultimately unaffected he seemed in the moment. However, her urge to question it tapered off the moment she felt the head of his cock between her thighs, teasingly being stroked along the lips of her cunt, practically radiating heat. He rubbed the tip tenderly over her slit, feeling her twitch each time the soft skin slipped wetly over the bump of her clit. Mikasa was about to complain about the teasing—because really, despite how wonderful it felt, it was nowhere near enough—before she saw how he was looking at her. Soaking in every detail of her reactions, licking his lips as he admired the deep blush-pink color of her cunt, feeling how desperately she wanted him. He pressed his forehead to hers again, and slowly pushed inside.

She gaped wordlessly, jaw falling open, as she felt the blunt and plump head of his cock push inside of her, stretching her deliciously. Eren thrust deeper, squeezing past that sensitive spot within her and coaxing soft cries from her throat. He pressed steadily and gently forward until she had taken him to the root, wonderfully full and clenching around him, shuddering in pleasure when she felt his cock softly throbbing within her. He slipped out of her wetness with ease, and the brunette started rocking his hips in a slow pace, carefully and agonizingly working her open. And it was better that it was slow, she decided. Better to feel the slow and sumptuous slide as he stretched her, better to feel her own muscles clench around him a little tighter every time he thrust into that tender spot, so sensitive it was almost maddening. It was better to feel her clit throb when he sunk all the way in—the tingles branching from between her legs with every rough, wet smack of his hips against her own—to feel that hot pressure slapping against her front as she squeezed the thickness within her, thrills coursing through her body. 

As his pace quickened, she became shamelessly and helplessly aware of the sounds bursting from her throat. Her boot began to slip off the wall, legs trembling as his thick cock pumped in and out of her dripping heat. With her knees ready to give at any moment, she was more than grateful to have the support of the wall at her back, and the support of Eren’s hands, cradling the small of her back and the other gripping her thigh. His fingertips dug into the soft skin there as he hoisted her leg high, and her back thumped rhythmically against the wall as he rutted into her. The heat and heaviness of his cock inside her was overwhelming, and a deep shudder rolled up her spine every time the head slammed into that sweet spot, tingling in her nerves, crackling through her body something electric. She muffled a shaky groan against his neck, lolling her head to the side and grinding her forehead against his shoulder. The fabric of his shirt was damp against her skin—whether from his sweat or hers, she wasn’t sure. Slick black strands of her own hair were sticking to her cheeks, plastered with sweat, and she tilted her head to try to press a weak kiss to Eren’s throat. Her soft, parted lips dragged over the sensitive skin there, rested in the crook of his neck. She was certain, in her slack-jawed daze, that she was probably accomplishing little more than drooling on him—but the brush of her wet lips over his throat still made his breath hitch, a spasm lurching through his hips. A soft, faint smile stretched over Mikasa’s lips when he briefly slowed to a stop afterwards, clearly trying his best to stave off his own end, to focus on anything besides the phenomenal wetness and warmth clamping around him. A shaky breath, and he was back to moving again in only a moment, pressing himself flush against her, pushing as deep as he could go and grinding slowly, rolling their bodies together. Her eyes fluttered shut with a gasp the moment she felt that hot pressure to her front, clenching around him as he slipped further inside—and _god_ , she was close.

Her muscles rioted as he slowly took her apart, as he ruined her, pleasure rippling through her body with every thrust, the sensation so rich that it was nearly painful. And, above all else, it was _Eren_. It was Eren’s scent she breathed in as she buried her nose in his hair, reveled in the feverish heat radiating off of him. It was Eren’s breath fanning over her slick throat. It was Eren’s cock buried in her, thick and heavy and throbbing in her wetness. She felt it coiling in her gut, pleasure building in her core as her body shivered—clenching, aching, yet never quite tipping over the edge. Her legs shook badly, boot kicking against the wall as she desperately writhed toward and away from the raw sensation—and banging on the wall with her heel likely wasn’t the best way to remain undetected, but, compared with her loud mouth and the rapid sound of flesh smacking together, it was the least of their problems.

Starting low in her belly, tightening in her groin, pleasurable shocks began to course through her, building slowly—and she was kicking and curling her toes and crying out—each pulse more deliciously intense than the last—until it spilled over.

Mikasa clapped a hand over her mouth as a scream tore its way out of her throat, surprising even herself, as she came, her orgasm pulsing through her body. The raw relief that walloped into her was overwhelming, and she felt her cunt throbbing and clenching around him, nothing but bliss and adrenaline coursing through her veins, as she let her shout taper off into a deep and throaty moan. She rode out that pleasure, rocking her hips—Eren had frozen and stopped moving the second she had screamed, looking genuinely worried, before it seemed to dawn on him that things were, in fact, far more than okay.

She felt a hand caressing her cheek, gingerly thumbing wet black strands of hair away from her face, and a breathless and barely-discernible whisper of “ _holy shit_ ” reached her ears—and if there was any breath in her lungs, she would have breathed out a soft laugh. He was awestruck, nearly reverent, as he softly stroked his thumbs across her rose-smattered cheeks. He slid his hand back to cradle her neck, her head still resting against the wall, and held her with an almost sobering devotion.

He shifted to move again, matching her soft rocking motions with his own, and she tensed, lurching—because she still squeezed so tightly around him, and the soft area that the head of his cock pressed into felt like a knot of nerves, hypersensitive. As he slowly slid out and back in, slipping past that almost painfully tender spot, she arched her back and cried out again. She slowly peeled her lids open and met those glimmering green eyes, darkened with desire.

Her heart thrummed in her euphoria, and she braced her hands on his biceps as he slipped smoothly in and out of her, absently aware of him murmuring praises in her ear as she shook through the sensations. Somehow, it didn’t shock her too much to discover that Eren was chatty during sex. She felt his breath wash over the shell of her ear—sweet words about how gorgeous she was when she came for him, how well she was taking him—and she shuddered in elation.

His hand struggled to worm its way in between them—and he was eager to have his fingers pressing down on her clit, eager to see her brows drawn and lips parted in ecstasy, just like that, as she came for him again and again. However, there wasn’t room between their bodies, and he slowed the roll of his hips.

“Turn around,” he murmured, lips soft against her ear. She shivered as his fingers barely brushed over her slick clit. “ _God_ , you’re so fucking wet… I wanna make you cum again, fuck, do you—”

She caught herself nodding desperately, already trying to turn for him.

Her hips jerked when he pulled all the way out of her—and what a sight that was, his cock flushed a pretty red, glistening with her cum, so painfully hard he looked ready to burst. She bit down hard on her lip as she lowered her leg—tremors running through her—and became suddenly aware of the strain in the single leg she’d been using to hold herself up against the wall, the deep burn in her thigh. Her leg caved, and Eren barely caught her around the waist before she fell. It took a moment to steady herself, head spinning and harsh breathing, before she turned. The both of them backed up slightly, until the backs of Eren’s boots were nearly touching the wall, giving her room to lean over. Her back was still arched in the cramped space, but she definitely wasn’t in a mood to complain, folding her arms against the wall expectantly.

When he sunk into her again, she was unprepared for how excruciatingly wonderful it felt. Her cunt was still throbbing with the fresh sensitivity of her last orgasm, and with her quivering legs pressed together, she squeezed so much tighter around his painfully-hard cock, felt in exquisite detail each time the blunt head pushed past that spot. She felt herself soaking her own thighs as his thick cock pumped in and out of her, reveled in the wet sounds of flesh slapping together. She ground her cheek against the cool wall as the pleasure became piercing, choked sobs tearing their way from her throat with each smack of his hips against her rear. And when she felt his fingers smooth down over her stomach and press into her clit, rubbing slow, taunting circles with each thrust, the cry that left her lips was obscene.

She was absolutely breathless and babbling, nonsensical, crying out his name over and over again in a slew of moans and pleas, shaking as he rammed into that tender spot again and again—and the hot liquid pleasure curling in her gut was too much, coupled with the sweet pressure rubbing over clit, and _god_ , she could feel herself tightening up again, could feel it welling up inside her, his name like a mantra on her lips—

A fist banged against the door hard enough to rattle it in the frame, and Mikasa jumped, heart leaping into her throat.

“Hey, _Eren_ ,” a muffled and unfamiliar voice called out—a stagehand, by the likes of it—and Mikasa flushed up to her ears when she realized how he must have caught Eren’s name. Despite jumping at the first knock, Eren slowly started moving again, still thrusting into her. Even in her mortification, she still pushed weakly back into his motions— _shit_ , it felt so mind-meltingly good—and she clasped a hand over her mouth to try to stifle a drawn-out, broken moan.

The stagehand became more agitated, disgust plain in his voice as he warned, “Maybe this shit flies backstage at other dives, but not here. You’re gonna wanna cut it out before I have to get the boss.”

When he pounded on the door again, he received no answer. However, when the knocking persisted, fist thudding against it until the hinges rattled, Eren slammed his own fist back against the door.

“Christ, _come on_ ,” Eren griped, looking far more peeved than he had the right to. “Can’t you tell we’re _fucking_ _busy_?” he shouted back, accenting the last two words with loud strikes against the door.

Mikasa pressed her hand tighter over her mouth to smother her snort. She wasn’t sure which was worse: how stupidly and obliviously shameless Eren was when he was high, or the mutter of “fuckin’ idiot…” as the stagehand walked away, presumably to get the boss—neither were going to bode well for her in the future, she was certain.

Eren was already focusing his attention back on Mikasa—brushing her hair out of the way to kiss the back of her neck, and groaning at the thrills it sent down her spine. His slick fingers were slipping over her clit again, pushing down hard and rubbing as he fucked into her, and her whole body tingled as she felt that familiar stirring in her gut. It came on easier this time, with her body still so hypersensitive, welling up in the wake of her first orgasm—she felt herself slipping down that way again, the sweet throb in her cunt growing unbearably intense, and she couldn’t have stopped it even if she wanted to.

Another scream ripped its way out of her throat and into her palm, tears prickling at the corners of her eyes, as that swelling feeling finally burst. Her hips spasmed as her second orgasm crashed over her, jerking away from the overwhelming feeling. Eren’s fingers still clamped hard over her clit, and coupled with the brutal pace he had set, the raw pleasure was almost blinding. She thwacked her forehead against the wall as the feeling intensified, clenching so tightly and exquisitely around the hard cock inside of her that she could barely breathe.

Distantly, Mikasa could hear Eren starting to lose his composure behind her, shaky moans growing louder and louder. His pace became erratic as he gripped her hip even harder, each slap of his hips sending ripples through the flesh of her ass—and he was so, _so_ close. He could feel it swelling almost painfully, tightening in his balls and curling in his toes, and his hips were a blur as he thrust into her—

“Oh—oh _shit_ , I’m—”

The realization made her cunt throb, and she knew, more than anything else, what she wanted. It was hard to speak between the moans bursting from her lips, but she managed to breathlessly plead, “D-Don’t pull out, I wanna— _fuck_ , I wanna feel it.”

 _Oh_.

His hips stuttered once he understood what she was asking for, and with her words tipping him over the edge, he realized that he was already about to give her what she wanted.

A powerful wave of relief shuddered through his body, and he pushed in as deeply as he could, a shout bursting from his lips, and she felt his cock pulse hard within her. His cry tapered off into helpless groans, and Mikasa bit her lip as he spilled himself inside her. His cock jumped a few more times, each pulse filling her cunt with more hot ropes of white, before he began slowly sliding in and out—riding out his orgasm with sweet friction, until he was finished.

Eventually the rocking of his hips subsided, but he still leaned over her, trying to catch his breath. A flutter of eyelashes stroked against her cheek, and then she felt him softly kissing the side of her face. She released a soft sound, basking in the exquisite and euphoric afterglow, her cunt throbbing deliciously around him. She felt his rapid-fire heartbeat, both flush against her shoulder blades and deep inside her—and all of it was better than she’d ever envisioned. Mikasa was woozy and beaming and entirely elated, turning to look over her shoulder and meet Eren’s lips, her heart soaring in her chest.

A soft whimper left her as he pulled out, but before she even had a chance to reckon with the emptiness she felt, with the cool air hitting her back where his chest used to be, he had spun her back around. Her back thudded against the wall and Eren dove forward to claim her lips again, breathlessly and sloppily, all slick tongues and flushed lips—incontrovertibly, irrevocably enamored. She would have given anything to see what was going through his mind—hell, to see what had even spurred him onto this impetus to begin with, what had made him agree. Had he wanted her too, the same way she’d wanted him all this time, even if he denied himself the optimism? If this was a fluke, much like what had happened between her and Jean, it didn’t feel like it. And oh shit, _Jean_ , what had she done? What did this mean for all of them—and even if it swung in her favor, could she reasonably be content with getting what she wanted if she wasn’t content with her means of getting it?

Eren’s lips parted from hers with a soft pop, and he smiled at her—a grin which she quickly found to be contagious. It would be alright, she reasoned to herself, lifted on a carefree buoy of endorphins and coke. They would have time to talk through it. And funnily enough, both of them opened their mouths, ready to speak at the same time—

Before a chorus of bloodcurdling screams, loud enough to slice through the blaring beat of the speakers and the ringing in their ears, cut them off.

Time seemed to move slowly for the moment, seconds dripping by like molasses as they watched each other’s faces fall. Mikasa’s soaring heart plummeted into the pit of her gut, sinking like a cold stone, and she could feel the blood leaving her flushed face. Although neither of them had any idea what was happening, Armin was out there, their friends were out there, and a surge of sobering, ice-cold fear coursed through her. It was that fear which had her thoughtlessly tugging her dress back down over hips and instinctively lunging for the doorknob, unlocking and wrenching it open, before bounding out the doorway. Eren tried to follow, stepping forward, before pausing in a moment of clarity. He tucked his cock back into his pants, hurrying to pull up the hem and fasten the buttons and belt buckle with rapidly shaking fingers. Mikasa didn’t wait for him as she jogged to the front of the stage, legs quivering weightlessly as she bounced on them—feeling as though she was trying to balance the weight of a bowling ball on two wet toothpicks. She had to peer around only for a moment before she saw density waves in the thick throngs of people. Toward the center of the crowd, a ring formed—a wave of people scrambling desperately to get away, colliding with stationary bodies, or with those encroaching closer in curiosity. The two crowds meshed, writhed, reaching past each other with outstretched arms, but remained ultimately stagnant—trapping the people within the ring with whatever was at its center. With every blinding white strobe, the frantic crowd of people stayed about where it was, but at the very center, a new scene unfolded with every flash of light. A scene bathed in red.

Her stomach dropped—because despite how it _couldn’t_ be, how this was supposed to be a safe area, out of bounds—the fears that filled her the moment she had heard the screaming had been realized. A brief clearing was visible to her as the crowd parted, for only an instant—and she watched a man sink his teeth into a woman’s bare shoulder, ripping loose a stringy chunk of muscle and spraying crimson. 

Berserk.

The ring was growing tighter as more people pushed closer to see the commotion. As Mikasa scanned over the loop, she caught sight of a familiar crown of blonde and swishing brown ponytail, and the rush of adrenaline that buzzed through her had her legs lunging forward before she could even think about it.

A swift charge for a running start, and Mikasa jumped right off the stage, soaring through the air, invincible in her panic. The impact rippled through her body once her boots collided with the ground, crouching—she knew that the splitting pain slicing through her calves would likely have slowed her down any other time—but not now, not when adrenaline sluiced through her veins, not when she was exactly as immortal as she’d felt since Mr. Smith’s gift. Rising to her feet, she immediately rushed forward, knocking people out of the way haphazardly—in her own hopes, clearing a path for those escaping once she broke through the ring. Gradually the crowd thickened, until she was met with a solid wall of bodies—and heard the mangled shrieks of panic just beyond it. Fisting one hand in the back of a man’s shirt and wrapping the other around the hem of his jeans, she wrenched her arms and swung him to the side like a sack of flour, not even looking where he landed. She clapped her hands over two people’s adjacent shoulders next, peeling them apart and thrusting them backwards, stumbling to the floor. A heel squeaked on the tile behind her as someone rose to their feet, their shoes clacking closer to her. The thought struck her that it may be the man she had just tossed to the ground—an altercation easily evaded when she snagged onto the man directly in front of her and flung him backwards in the same exact way, praying that they crashed into each other instead. She had finally breached through—greeted with a woman’s reaching hand and tear-stained face, and she shoved the people next to her to the side. This was ample space for the woman to squeeze through, followed by a steady flow of people running. And once enough people had successfully started sprinting, several passerbys began to turn tail as well. Mikasa shoved her way into the circle, and was met instantaneously with a bloodbath.

The first thing she saw was a man tearing tooth-first into another man’s face—the canines puncturing right through the cheek—before he clamped his jaw down hard and ripped his head back. In one fluid swipe, the man had peeled the skin from his cheek to his collarbone, ripping through flesh and exposing the glistening red tendons. Tatters of skin still dangling from the wound and his jaw, the man sloppily dove forward again without hesitation—chomping down on fleshy sinews, bursting veins in his bite as dark, rich blood poured from him. Mikasa froze in shock and horror, watching as the blood seeped into the man’s white shirt, the stain blooming like a flower, crimson petals unfurling. A sickeningly wet tearing noise broke her reverie as the man ripped his head back and forth, snapping sinews like strings and spattering blood over the crowd—and Mikasa lunged forward to stop him.

Given that his mouth was preoccupied, she figured boxing—her field of expertise—would be safe, but she knew she’d have to keep her distance once his gaping maw was free. Fists curled, drifting closer on her toes and ready to break at any moment, she planted her foot forward and socked him in the jaw.

The flesh of his face rippled from her strike, mouth popping open as she slugged him directly at the junction of his jawbones, and he reeled back, the body in his grasp crumpling to the ground. Mikasa glanced to the side, catching sight of another one—and there were only two, it seemed. The other berserk user hunched and hobbled off-kilter toward a gaggle of people—and if that shaved head in the crowd was who she thought it was, then she barely had time to save him, weight shifting to the balls of her feet as she prepared to run—before Reiner came barreling through the crowd, shoving Connie out of the way as the man lunged.

Her relief was short-lived as she turned back to face the one she had knocked over, who was back on his feet, bulging eyes following her every move. He barely looked human, she realized with an ill feeling, watching the long strands of bloody drool drip and dangle from his lips. The music’s beat was still thumping, shuddering through her, and she watched as his lips slowly peeled back, baring blood-drenched teeth, and he dove face-first for her, the whites of his eyes flashing bright.

She dodged to the side—no small feat, since he was much faster than she expected—and as she turned to the side, she blanched when she caught sight of Reiner again. The man had sunk his teeth into the meat inside Reiner’s forearm, likely when he had thrust his arm out to protect Connie, and was all but chewing on him. However, she noticed, with a terrified admiration, that despite the excruciating, throbbing pain of the man’s gnashing teeth, Reiner had maneuvered them so he was behind the man. He used his free arm to grip his other wrist, pressing the man’s head and his own forearm against his chest, and put all of his strength into squeezing them there—crushing the man’s windpipe with his own jaw. Rivulets of sweat flowed down his temples, face contorted in agony—because the harder he squeezed, the deeper those teeth cut—but he held steady.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the blood-soaked figure of the man gearing up again, and she took a step back, the back of her biceps bumping against the cold metal of the bar counter—and that gave her an idea.

She loitered for a moment, baiting him closer to the counter. A moment passed, and he pounced, jaw gaping and teeth shining scarlet, and she ducked to the side.

She swiveled on her heel as she spun out of the way, turning as his head perfectly aligned itself with the bar counter. Her leg swung up into the air as she spun, sweeping out a wide arc, until it landed with a crunch. The kick smashed his head against the counter, temple cracking against the metal corner. The man slumped to the ground unconscious.

A surge of dizziness came over her all at once—like the vision-blacking, ear-ringing numbness of standing too quick, the blood rushing to her head all too late—and she stumbled backwards a few steps, heels clumsy and heavy. She heard a cry of her name, feet clapping toward her, and a pair of arms reached out to catch her in the nick of time. She knew that voice—Sasha—and she opened her eyes, blinking slowly. Sasha’s chestnut ponytail hung like a curtain in her periphery, and she noticed Reiner slowly lowering the other unconscious man to the ground, white in the face. Armin ran over next to him, holding pressure on Reiner’s forearm—and thank god he hadn’t been harmed. Her heart was palpitating faster than a machine-gun, weakness taking over her as the last traces of adrenaline ebbed from her bloodstream, and she suddenly caved to all the exertion her body had been through.

She leaned back against Sasha, balancing her weight on her leg, and breathed slowly, trying to brace herself against the vertigo.

“Mikasa, are you okay?” Sasha asked again, worry bursting in her words, and she grabbed her chin, turning her head side to side. She checked for any injuries, trying to ascertain that the blood splattered over her face wasn’t her own. “Are you alright?”

Sasha shifted her leg suddenly, brows knitting in uncomfortable confusion, and reached down to where Mikasa’s upper thigh pressed against her own. “Hey, uh, Mikasa,” she started, reaching down to swab at the wetness on her leg. “I think you’re—”

She lifted her hand up to see, and froze. “Is… is this—oh, oh my god, _no_ ,” Sasha gagged loudly as she held out her cum-covered fingers. Waving her fingers away from her face, she complained, “Aw, Jesus Christ, Mika, I thought you were just on your free-bleeding shit again!”

She made another wretching sound, whispering “ _ew ew ew…_ ” under her breath as she reached out and wiped her fingers on the back of Connie’s hand.

“Hm?” Connie asked, turning his attention to Sasha with a puzzled expression. He raised his hand to his nose and sniffed once, confused, before his eyes widened, and he looked back up at his friend in horror. “What the _fuck_ , Sasha? And where did you get this from?!”

Jean had just emerged onto the scene—had ended his phone call the moment he caught sight of Mikasa and Reiner fighting and had rushed in—and was staring at the corpse-littered ground in terror, when Connie started rubbing the back of his hand on Jean’s jacket.

“What are you—” Jean started, pushing his hand away, before he reached up to move the fabric, squinting at the shiny whitish stain soaking into the material, and looked back up with indignance. “Is this—hey, did you just wipe your cum on my jacket?!”

“It’s not mine!” Connie cried out, raising his hands defensively. “I don’t know where it’s from.”

Jean shook his head slowly, eyes wide with fear. “That does not make it better, Connie.”

As the two bickered right in front of the slaughter, for some reason, the only thought that occurred to Mikasa in her delirious state was how terrible it would be if she ended up dripping Eren’s DNA all over the crime scene.

“Hey, uh, Mikasa,” Sasha proposed sweetly, despite the urgency in her voice. “Do you think you could stand up on your own now? There’s—ha, wow, gross— _so_ much more than I thought there was, and I can feel it on my knee—”

“Don’t let it spill,” Mikasa cut her off, voice earnest. She met Sasha’s gaze with steely seriousness as she reached to swipe it off of Sasha with one hand, cupping the other between her legs.

Sasha held her gaze with a deeply confused grimace, realizing Mikasa wasn’t exactly in the right state of mind, before finally sighing. “...You know what? I’m not going to ask questions.”

She swung an arm under Mikasa’s armpit to support her, and started leading her away. Mikasa still scooped awkwardly at her own legs, but let herself be guided. “We’re going to the bathroom, and we’re getting you—and your bloody face, and your little handfuls of cum—all cleaned up, _now_.”

“But—” she spared a quick look over her shoulder, peering around. “But Eren—”

“—was nowhere near the bloodbath, sweetie, and I’m sure he’s just fine.”

Mikasa huffed out a sigh—and that wasn’t what she was trying to ask, but she was too tired to argue.

“How about we get some food in you,” Sasha proposed, still concerned by the tremor in Mikasa’s legs—Sasha was a little shaky herself, despite barely seeing the tail end of what had happened. “We could pick up Taco Bell on the way home. I’m in the mood for spicy potato soft tacos.”

She spared Mikasa a fond but worried glance, hoping to lift her mood and regain some sense of normalcy. She smiled understandingly and lifted her eyebrows as she offered, “...You want a spicy potato soft taco?”

Mikasa paused for a second, looking sheepish, before sincerely nodding at Sasha. “Yeah… yeah, I really do.”

The two disappeared into the crowd. Connie and Jean had gone quiet, people shoving past them to tend to those on the ground still moving. The both of them said nothing, shell-shocked as they took in the remains of the carnage still in their sight—the smeared bloody footprints, the weak agonized groans of the wounded, the cold limp hands of those who had stopped responding. Sirens started up a few blocks over—and it was only then they spoke quietly among themselves, numbly discussing whether the police would need eyewitnesses, or if it was wiser to leave before they arrived, because there was no way their second act would follow this—when Eren burst through the crowd behind them, looking worried.

“Where the hell have you been?” Connie yelped in surprise.

“I, uh… tried jumping off the stage and I think I twisted my ankle,” he admitted, wincing as he rotated his heel in a circle. “And then I was almost trampled... It’s cool though, have you guys seen Mikasa?”

“Have we seen her?” Connie snorted. “Yeah, saw her K.O. a cannibal in like five seconds flat—”

“She just left with Sasha,” Jean butted in, answering his question.

“Where are they? I gotta talk to her,” he explained, leaning up on his toes and swiveling his head around to look for them.

A hand clapped softly on his shoulder stopped him, and he peered up at Jean.

“Eren, your nose is bleeding,” Jean started, lifting a hand to wipe away the dark drop of blood, smearing a rusty stain in its wake, before he paused. He blinked at Eren’s blown pupils for a moment before drawing back suspiciously. “What the hell… Eren, are you high?”

“...No?” he answered, as if hoping that was the right answer. Over Jean’s shoulder, through a narrow space between two people’s bodies, he suddenly caught sight of Levi running in and dropping to his knees on the deep maroon tile, tearing off a strip of gauze to wrap a makeshift bandage around a gash in a woman’s shoulder. He tossed the roll of gauze, encouraging everyone else to do the same if they found someone still responsive, and more people waded in to the carnage to do the same. Many people were loitering just as Jean and Connie had been—staring ahead, blanched and despondent. A fresh wave of questions crested and crashed over his already overwhelmed mind—because he had heard the screams, but what the _hell_ had happened here—

Eren had been staring too blankly over Jean’s shoulder for too long, evidently, because Jean just sighed. “Yeah, you fucking are. Let’s go.”

“Huh?” Eren whipped his head up from the distraction as Jean wrapped a hand around his bicep.

“I’m taking you home.”

“Jean,” he said, feet skidding to a halt as he seemed to ponder something—something that made him both guilty and giddy, happy and anxious and confused all at once, now that he was looking Jean in the eyes and trying to make sense of it all. “There’s something I _really_ need to tell you.”

“I’m sure it can wait until we’re somewhere that doesn’t reek like sweat and blood,” he complained, wrinkling his nose at the iron-rich scent in the air. “Come on.”

Eren swallowed around his thudding pulse as he followed Jean outside, feeling like a tangle of nerves—and he wasn’t sure it could.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you liked the new chapter! This one’s a little longer than the other two, and so it took a little longer! Things do pick up a lot in the story after this. If you’ve gotten this far, I want to thank you so much for reading! It really means the world to me, and kudos/comments from y’all melt my heart, fr. ❤️
> 
> I also want to thank my precious friend Kate (@bimikasa on tumblr, @vxxv here) for her constant support! Check out her work if you haven’t already! She’s great and I’m always ready to gas her up nzsnsjs 
> 
> Also @ Taco Bell please don’t sue me for mentioning your product... I’m a big fan LMAO
> 
> I’m on tumblr and discord as @albatrost as well, if any of y’all wanna talk! See ya soon! xoxo


	4. Mu Shu Tofu

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was rare for Eren to have a reasonable bone in his body, and when he did, it was usually Jean’s.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... the amount of scenes that happen over the course of this next “day” were wayyy too plentiful for this chapter alone. Rather than dividing up the contents chronologically, I decided to split it up primarily perspective-wise. So this time you’ll see more of Eren and Jean, and next time there will be more focus on Mikasa! Sorry to anyone who wanted to see Mika now (including myself bc I love her), but y(our) time will come soon! I’ve got more to say but I think I’ll save it to the end. See ya then!

It was hard to tell how long he had been fluttering in and out of sleep—stirred whenever he struggled to sip down a breath, nose clogged and throat burning, before his consciousness tapered off again. His breathing had steadied once more—as he gulped around what he could only assume was a lump of gravel in his throat—and he was ready to slip off again, when a particularly harsh wheeze ripped him out of sleep—whether he liked it or not.

Eren lurched up onto his elbows to cough, a sharp pain splitting the front of his skull as he jerked his head up, and he slowly peeled his eyelids open. The room was bright and blurry, and it took a moment for him to place his surroundings. Groggily, he rubbed his fingers over one of his eyes, relaxing a bit when the floor lamp in the opposite corner came into the focus. Jean’s room. Lazily stretching over toward the bedside table, he fumbled for the tissues he knew were there and blew his nose, before tossing them into the wastebasket and slouching back against the headboard. Eren closed and opened his bleary eyes slowly, so dry he could hear the lids click when he blinked. With his head clear, he didn’t feel as bad—dull ache and raw throat aside—and he was trying to remember exactly how he ended up there and _why_ he felt like shit when the doorknob rattled.

Arms laden and heavy with plastic takeout bags, Jean pushed the door open and startled, looking both surprised and relieved to see that Eren was up. The blonde boy spared him a tense and worried glance as he nudged the door shut behind him and set the bags down on his desk. 

“Hey, how are you feeling?” he asked, concern strung tight in his voice as he shrugged off his jacket.

“…A hundred and ten percent,” Eren deadpanned, looking up at Jean as haggardly as he could, and the blonde snorted as he walked over to his closet.

“I figured as much,” Jean shook his head with a crooked smile, but he sounded apologetic as he tacked on, “You crashed pretty hard last night, once we got back…”

 _Last night._ Eren sniffed and rubbed a hand over his face, something gnawing at the back of his mind.

“I tried dragging you to the shower, but you’re a lot heavier than I thought you were… You, uh, you smell like shit, no offense,” Jean offered, sheepishly rubbing at his neck.

Eren frowned, looking ready to retort, but a quick sniff of his own shirt deepened his frown further. Even if it had dried, the fabric had still been soaked through with sweat again and again, and it reeked of it as honestly as it could. “Ugh, you’re right, sorry.”

Eren dragged a hand over his mouth as he absently listened to Jean insisting it was fine, suddenly becoming uncomfortably aware of how the smoke and stink and grime of the previous night clung to him. He shifted to get up and head toward the shower, before a piercing pain sluiced through his ankle. A sharp hiss burst from between his teeth as he reached down to grasp at his leg.

“Ah, yeah, I wouldn’t walk on that yet,” the other boy commented off-handedly as he made his way back to his desk. “I mean… it looks fine, but it’s a little swollen. I think you’re supposed to keep it raised or whatever.”

“The fuck did I do?” Eren complained as he grit his teeth, massaging the bottom of his calf. The throb in his heel was sobering, if nothing else.

“Dunno,” he hummed, fishing the first small takeout box out of the bag. “But you’re the one who told me you jumped off of the stage.”

_The stage._

And suddenly the memory of last night walloped into him, as if he had hurtled out of his drowsy freefall and slapped against the ground in a brilliant splash of red.

“Oh my _fucking god_.”

The crinkle of plastic drowned out his awestruck and panicked words, and Jean remained oblivious to whatever speechlessness had seized Eren. “Anyways, I was gonna bring you breakfast… you slept through that, so by the time 2 P.M. rolled around, lunch seemed like a better bet. I stopped by that Chinese place you like so much and picked up your favorite, extra plum sauce and everything—”

“You really didn’t have to!” Eren blurted out, eyes wide with guilt, and Jean turned to him with a brow raised.

“Well, I… did anyways,” he stated, regarding Eren curiously. He continued earnestly, while Eren just gaped at him like a deer in headlights. “If you’re not in the mood for Mu Shu tofu I can just put it in the fridge for later. For real, whatever you want. I, uh… I meant it when I said I wanted to make it up to you, so we can do anything you’re in the mood for—”

“It’s, um, it’s really okay!” Eren tossed his hands up with a nervous laugh. “It’s fine! We all make mistakes that aren’t actually mistakes!”

“…What are you talking about?” Jean squinted at him.

“I, uh… I messed up the same way you did? I mean, it _wasn't_ a mistake, but—but that’s okay, we’re even! Or maybe way, way worse than even, I haven’t really figured that out yet—”

“What the hell are you going on about?” Jean cut him off, and he swallowed slowly—throat suddenly feeling a little too tight.

With emphasis, Eren repeated, “I’m saying, I ‘messed up’ the same way you did… like the _exact_ same way.”

“What does that _mean_ , Eren—”

“I had sex with Mikasa.”

_Oh._

Jean’s heart plummeted all the way to the pit of his stomach, dropping like a cold stone, innards going clammy. Eren’s outburst had socked the air from the room, and Jean found himself struggling to swallow, his breaths thick as water in his lungs—because this was it, _Christ_ , this was exactly what he’d always feared, but which had seemed just unlikely enough—and he lowered his own hands once he realized they were quivering. Jean grasped desperately for something—anything—that he felt he could cover his shock before Eren noticed—and that just happened to be rightful indignance.

“Wait… why the _hell_ were you so mad at me yesterday, then?” he stammered, cloaking his nerves in rage and diving straight toward Eren’s perceived hypocrisy. Scoffing, he bitterly raised a brow. “What, is it my turn to toss you out of my room pelting you with clothes—y’know, since it is _my_ room—”

“I know, I know, _fuck_ , I’m sorry,” the brunette grimaced as he recounted his own behavior, looking at Jean almost pitifully. “That was _before_ , I didn’t—”

“Before?” Jean drew back with a confused frown. “We were together all day—wait… the _show_?”

Eren nodded back quickly, eyes saucer-wide.

“…I left you alone for like thirty minutes!” Jean exclaimed, throwing up his hands in exasperation.

“Okay, shit, listen,” Eren stuttered out, hands raised defensively, trying to explain himself. “So Mr. Smith owns The Expedition, alright?”

“Okay, sure.”

“And you’re off on a phone call, and all the rest of us go down to Mr. Smith’s coke dungeon—”

“His _what_ —”

“—and so ‘Kasa and I are like, _feeling_ it, you know? And we went backstage to look for someone—Connie or Sasha I think, I actually don’t remember—and I felt awesome, like on top of the fuckin’ world, and she felt awesome and everything was so _clear_ all of a sudden—”

“You got coked up and fucked your sister,” Jean spoke numbly, in disbelief.

Eren scrunched up his nose and looked at Jean with a sour expression. “Oh, hey, it’s only weird if you call her my sister.”

“No, it’s still kind of weird, Eren.”

“C’mon, let me finish—what I was trying to say is that it _didn’t_ seem like a mistake, though.”

Jean felt his pulse quicken as the words left his lips—because what could that mean, other than that Eren had feelings for her? There was little he could do besides lean back, steadying himself against the desk, and wait for Eren to elaborate.

“I mean… I would die for her. I love her more than _anyone_ , you know that,” Eren prefaced, staring at the wall as if maybe he was trying to explain this to himself. He tossed his hand up helplessly and almost laughed, “I mean, come on, she’s the best person there is. I just… I never thought about this before, I guess?”

Eren shook his head abruptly. “Well, no, that’s not true… when we were younger I guess I did sometimes think about, like… what if we dated someday, or ended up together, you know? And I had thought about her before… y’know, that way,” he admitted sheepishly as he rubbed the back of his neck. A telltale flush had started creeping onto his face, but he shook his head again. “Which, you know, was wrong, because she didn’t like me that way, and _Christ_ , I thought she was a lesbian…”

It occurred to Jean, even as he felt like the room was collapsing in on him, that maybe Eren was having a small crisis of his own.

“Besides, even if I had asked about it and she didn’t feel the same, that would have been a stupid way to fuck up what we had going, anyways. It just… I don’t know, it never occurred to me?” he met Jean’s eyes thoughtfully, brows drawn together in concern. “With the cocaine, it was all just so _clear_. I can’t really put it into words… And, uh… after that she put my hand in her underwear and that, ahem, was what really cleared things up, officially,” he cleared his throat awkwardly.

Jean was trying hard to not to think about the last thing Eren had said—realizing, in mild horror, that there was some other foreign feeling accompanying his heartbreak when he thought about them together. Instead, he latched weakly onto Eren’s comments about the cocaine—and he knew this was a last-ditch effort at dissuasion, even if it looked like a rational question to anyone else—and shit, he knew he owed both Eren and Mikasa more than that—but he couldn’t help clambering for that last bit of self-preservation.

“I mean… if both of you were that fucking high, are you sure you both felt the same way? You’re… sure it wasn’t just the coke?”

Eren’s dark, thick brows drew together, and he bit his lip as he stared down at his own hands, resting limp on Jean’s bed. “I don’t know… I don’t think so? It’s not like it was ecstasy or whatever, ‘t’s just coke… And it’s not like she didn’t know who I was, either. She kept… saying who I was, pretty loudly, so—”

“Yeah, I get it,” Jean cut him off with a sigh, shifting uncomfortably.

“I mean… what do you think?” Eren looked up at him trustingly—unassumingly, as if it was a perfectly normal thing to ask—and Jean had to remind himself that he and Eren had been friends for over a decade before they had been lovers.

“You genuinely wanna know what I think?” he asked gruffly. Any attempts to change his mind had backfired thus far, so he may as well lift all his past fears and frustrations off his chest.

The brunette nodded.

“I think she probably has to wring her panties out to dry after every time you talk to her, and I think it’s been that way for the past ten years, and I think you’re a fuckin’ idiot for not figuring that out until you were high enough to see the face of God and she was high enough to literally _put your hand inside of her_.”

Eren blinked at Jean for a couple of seconds, lips parted in shock, before anger started to sharpen in his features. “What the hell do you mean? Wait—are you saying you knew that she was into me all this time?”

“I didn’t _know_ , I just figured—”

“Why the hell didn’t you tell me?!” Eren was back to shouting again, and Jean figured that if they were airing everything right now, there wasn’t much to be salvaged by hiding how he felt.

“Gee, Eren, great question—why wouldn’t I tell my _boyfriend_ that the girl _I’ve_ been in love with since seventh grade—you were right, by the way—is in love with him instead? Let’s unpack that for a moment.”

Eren’s lip was raised in a snarl—shards of light glinting fiercely in his viridian eyes—and _god_ , he looked mad. As quickly as Jean’s urge to rile him up had flared, it deflated again—and he didn’t _want_ to fight with Eren, he realized with a defeated sigh. Swallowing down that childish and reckless desire to instigate something, he shook his head, and spoke up before Eren had the chance.

“It’s… because I’m a shitty friend, and a shitty boyfriend, too, I guess,” he admitted, frustrated with himself.

Eren’s face fell a little at his confession, and he swallowed loudly, gulping down whatever he had been ready to say. Anger was still plain on his face, but he waited to hear Jean talk.

“I mean, look how long it took me to admit to you that I slept with Mikasa,” he breathed out a laugh. “I’m exactly the coward you said I am.”

“Yeah, about that,” Eren snapped, as if Jean had reminded him of something else he had queued up to be angry about at a later time. “Still not as cowardly as just fuckin’ _leaving_ her the morning after, that’s why she had no idea—”

Jean sighed, realizing he must have talked more with Mikasa about it anyways—and it was evident there was still plenty of unresolved anger on this issue left to spare, but whether Eren was angry on his own behalf or on Mikasa’s, Jean couldn’t tell.

“Yeah, no, that was shit, I _know_ ,” he grimaced with guilt as he butted in to explain himself. “I mean, I _panicked_ , Eren—I’m _with you_ , I woke up with her, and once I figured out what had happened, I freaked out and booked it. I wasn’t… I don’t know, in the right state of mind. I thought of you as soon as I woke up, and this was something I had _really_ wanted… but not like that. And maybe I thought if I ran away it’d be like it hadn’t happened, and all of us could start over, I don’t know.”

Eren was stewing quietly as he mulled over his words, and Jean couldn’t resist tacking on, “I mean… it _was_ like it hadn’t happened, I just ended up telling you anyways—”

“Who cares, you still fuckin’ left her!” Eren spat, looking almost plaintive in his anger. “That’s really not cool, I mean _I’d_ want to know something like that happened! You’re gonna cheat on me like a bitch, and then run away from it like a bitch—come on, at least tell me it was worth her fucking time. Christ, did you even get her off?”

Jean reeled back from Eren’s scathing words with his brows knit in confusion. “Wait, is the accusation—what, that I cheated on you and you’re worried I didn’t do a good enough job of it?”

“Yeah, it sure as hell is,” Eren leaned forward on the bed as if he was sizing Jean up, and Jean would have laughed at how ridiculous it all was if Eren’s scrutiny wasn’t trained on him. His green eyes narrowed as he all but challenged, “You wanna know how many times I got her rocks off?”

The right answer was no—because _why_ would he want to know that, why would Eren even ask, if not to churn his stomach over it—but he realized with a guilty and horny stirring in his gut that he _did_. It was a bizarre territory he was wading out into, he realized as he swallowed dryly. He tried to sound as noncommittal as possible, as if he was merely entertaining Eren, when he answered, “…Okay, sure, Eren. How many?”

“Twice,” Eren lifted up his fingers for emphasis, and despite his rapid pulse, so swift he felt a little faint, Jean still managed a laugh.

“What, that’s it? You talked it up, I thought you were gonna say, like, eight or some shit.”

Eren scowled and crossed his arms, gaze steely. “Well, how many times did you make her cum, then?” 

“I don’t know, Eren, we were drunk!” he tossed his hands up in exasperation as Eren persisted. “Why is it a competition!”

“I just wanna know,” he clarified, voice unsteady, and Jean noticed his cheeks were barely flushed again—whether from anger or embarrassment, jealousy or _something else_ , he couldn’t tell—and he suddenly wondered if Eren’s heartrate was as quick as his. “Did you make her cum?”

“…Yes, Eren,” he finally sighed, prepared to provide more detail than he’d been ready to, since it seemed like that that was exactly what Eren was fishing for. “The… whole thing was really just me eating her out, that’s almost all we did, okay? And I could tell she got off at least once, and it seemed like she was having a pretty swell time. And then we also fucked afterwards, too, but… that part was pretty brief, actually,” he confessed, wincing in embarrassment.

Whether or not Eren was satisfied with his answer, something new seemed to snag his attention, and he narrowed his eyes as he asked, “…Did you raw her?”

“Oh my god, I pulled out, Eren, Jesus,” he jerked back with a frown at the invasive question. After a short pause, he bit his lip and gestured weakly, “But… yeah, I didn’t have a condom with me. Again, it’s not like I _planned_ on cheating on you.”

“How did you do it?” he asked, and Jean realized the mood had _definitely_ changed. There was room to wonder beforehand if all of these questions were building up to something, or if Eren really was just a glutton for punishment—reason aside, Eren was his partner, so surely, he deserved the information if he wanted it. Yet he hardly sounded angry anymore, and Jean tried to ignore the uncomfortable twinge of pleasure in his gut when Eren asked again, “Tell me how you fucked her.”

“It was just missionary…we didn’t really have the hand-eye coordination for anything else, and she told me she was too tired to move after she came,” he recounted slowly, feeling heat in his face. “But… she asked me to do it. She told me how she wanted it, so I got on top of her and spread her open and fucked her like that.”

Those green eyes stared at him expectantly, pupils blown and dark with lust, and he nodded as if goading him on further.

“We… went slow, because I was already so close… like, _painfully_ close, just from getting her off, and I could still taste her on my lips and it was driving me mad…”

Eren hoped, with every fiber of his being, that the rumpled mass of bedsheets bunched around his hips was enough to hide his movements, but he couldn’t help the hand in his lap subtly drifting in between his legs and squeezing at himself.

“But… even just going as slow as possible, it was still too much—looking at her like that, when she was all flushed and moaning and—god, I don’t need to tell you this, you know how fucking gorgeous she is. And she was _so_ wet… Christ, I barely had time to pull out, before—you know.”

“I didn’t realize you were on top,” Eren responded, and there was still an uncertain and accusatory tone to his voice, despite how much harsher his breathing sounded. “Don’t tell me you pulled out and left it like that, left her all covered in—”

“Good god, Eren, _no_ , how much of a dick do you think I am?” Jean griped, looking incredulous—both at the assumption and at how Eren… almost seemed to enjoy asking it. 

“I went to Sasha’s bathroom and got a towel to wipe her off—and, uh, I had to go back to the bathroom to get the towel wet, because I couldn’t get it out of her hair,” he winced, and Eren’s eyes widened slightly.

“Her _hair_.”

“…Yes?”

“Okay, there, sharpshooter.”

“ _Either way_ , she was all cleaned up, alright?” he finished frantically, pointedly ignoring Eren’s commentary.

He noticed Eren pressing his lips together at the visual, and—regardless of how much he realized he was curious to ask Eren the same things, and how acknowledging that made his insides twist—he figured that this had gone on long enough.

“Why are you even asking me all this?” Jean interrupted, exasperated, when the brunette opened his mouth again. “I mean, what’s the point of this? It happened, and I can’t change that. Does it matter if there was cum in her or on her or off of her—I mean, _why_ , did you—”

Those amber eyes widened as some realization seemed to strike him, and he stopped mid-sentence. Abruptly, he headed straight toward his laundry bin, shuffling clothes around until he hooked onto what he was looking for.

“Was this _you_?” he asked, thrusting his jacket in front of Eren’s face and pointing at a spot. “Did you do this… somehow?”

Eren drew back in surprise, looking almost scandalized, before leaning in again as he inspected the area Jean gestured at. “Is that… what the _hell_ , Jean, why do you have some dude’s splooge on your jacket, huh?” he slapped at the fabric and glowered as his voice got louder. “I leave _you_ alone for half an hour, and you’ve already got some guy fuckin’ blasting rope all over you—”

“Eren!” Jean barked, though it sounded closer to a plea. “Please, for the love of god, _chill out_. No one… ‘blasted rope’ all over me, what the fuck does that even—never mind,” he shook his head and sighed. “I didn’t fuck anyone last night. _You did_ , remember? This is the part where I’m supposed to be mad at you for cheating on me—”

“Oh, right, shit, ’m sorry…” Eren murmured and reached up to rub at his temples with one hand, shadowing his eyes with his palm. 

“—besides, I… think it may be yours, anyways,” he frowned. 

Eren just squinted suspiciously at the jacket, clearly not connecting the dots. 

The two sat quietly for a moment, and any irritation gradually fizzled out. Jean caved first.

“…I meant it, you know, when I said I wanted to be with you. I still mean it. I’m not gonna let just anyone…,” Jean smiled as he snorted, “bust rope on me, or whatever the hell you just said.”

Eren breathed out an easy laugh, and Jean continued, “I’m serious. Wouldn’t even wanna look twice at anyone else.”

“Except Mikasa, right?” Eren raised his eyebrows expectantly. Surprisingly, Jean didn’t find any animosity there.

“Speak for yourself,” Jean shrugged noncommittally.

“…You just spent a solid minute telling me how her cunt tastes like heaven, so I’m not sure that you’re exempt from this.”

Eren looked almost amused as Jean flopped down defeatedly to sit next to him on the bed. He reached out, tanned fingers taking Jean’s pale hand into his own.

“Look, you’re not a shitty friend,” Eren assured him. “No… shittier than I am, anyways. If I was in your shoes, I’d probably wanna do the same.”

“But you wouldn’t,” the blonde boy defended him. He assumed, at least, that Eren was talking about Jean keeping Mikasa’s feelings to himself. “Not for me, but for her.”

Eren bit down on his knuckle pensively—Jean wasn’t wrong. That was a constant that hadn’t wavered since they were kids—if it made her happy, he would fight tooth and nail, hopelessly and helplessly, to give it to her. The one person, aside from Armin, who’d been with him through the best and worst of his life, who he knew and loved more than anyone. For Mikasa, anything.

Eren must have zoned out for a minute thinking about her, a small smile on his lips, because when he looked back at Jean, the other boy was regarding him somewhat warily.

“So, uh,” Jean began, trailing the fingers of his free hand up over the soft bristles of his undercut—reflecting on everything Eren had said earlier and the feelings that accompanied it. “Are you… gonna break up with me for your sister?”

Eren batted his lids for a moment as if the question didn’t quite make sense. After a second or two, a playful smile curled at the edges of his lips. “I thought we weren’t _dating_ , Jean,” —Christ, that was going to bite him in the ass forever— “and what? No.”

Scrunching his nose up and sending him the flattest glare he could muster, he added, “…Mostly because you phrased it that way, but also because I care about you, asshole.”

He leaned over to rest his head on the crook of Jean’s shoulder and let it loll there. His hair was still tied back—admittedly sloppily—but a few long dark strands spilled over onto Jean’s collarbone, tickling the skin. His fingers still played loosely with Jean’s own. “…We’re all gonna figure this out, alright?”

Eren peered up at Jean worriedly as something occurred to him. “I still need to talk to her. Did she ever come back here last night?”

Jean pulled his phone out of his pocket and waved it gently. “Been texting Sasha, and she mentioned that Mikasa’s over there. Sasha said she was still asleep, last I checked.”

“Oh,” he released a breath and relaxed against Jean. A wry, lopsided smile quirked at the corner of his mouth, and he looked up at Jean, every bit as endearing and charismatic as Jean knew him to be. “…We’re in a real pickle, huh?”

Jean scoffed—because of course Eren could find a way to laugh about all of this. He spent a second yearning for that distant time when he used to be immune to Eren’s contagious grin—because he _was_ still raw and upset, in one way or another—but he was already tumbling gracelessly back into Eren’s hands, and he caught himself smiling slightly before he realized it.

“Yup,” he sighed, turning to plant a kiss on Eren’s head. He pressed his lips hard to his hair for a moment, inhaling deeply and breathing him in—before drawing back and whispering, with all the affection in the world, “ _God_ , you stink.”

Eren tossed his head back to laugh. “Okay, okay, I’m going to the shower—”

With an earsplitting crack, Jean’s door slammed against the wall. Ymir’s hand slapped against it, and the woman herself was practically simmering with excitement, eyes wide and freckled face beaming.

“Yo, shitlords, you _have_ to see this,” she breathed out, beckoning them with her other hand.

In any other circumstances, the two of them may have hesitated, but the urgency in her voice plucked both of them off of the bed and had them scrambling to their feet. A hiss of pain sputtered out of Eren’s lips the second he settled his other foot on the ground.

“Here, wait, I’ve got you,” Jean murmured, bending over to sling one of Eren’s arms around his shoulders and help him to his feet.

“C’mon, c’mon, I don’t wanna miss it!” Ymir glanced down at her phone and squirmed.

“Miss what?” Jean breathed out gruffly once he had Eren upright and balanced, and the two made their way toward Ymir.

“I just got a—” she started, waving them past her, before she wrinkled her nose. “Oh, ugh, why does Eren smell like an armpit smoked a cigar?”

“Thanks, Ymir,” Eren replied tiredly, flashing her a peace sign.

“Anytime, buddy.” She patted him uselessly on the shoulder as he stumbled forward with Jean’s help. “Anyways, I was saying I just got a text from Reiner, telling me to turn on the news—”

“Reiner,” Eren perked up, realizing he hadn’t seen anyone besides Jean and Connie—and now Ymir—since the previous night’s chaos. “Is he alright?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah, he’s fine,” she mumbled as she walked ahead of them into the living room, nonchalantly tapping away at her phone. “I mean… he might get a blood infection, but trust me, he’s fine.”

“ _What?_ ”

“Shh, shh, I think it’s on!”

Both Jean and Eren ogled the TV screen as she pointed, and sure enough, the news anchors were switching over to a lone reporter outside of a hospital.

“We’re currently situated immediately outside of Trost University Medical Center, where we’re told both the surviving victims _and_ the perpetrators of last night’s attack at The Expedition are being held. Four deaths have been recorded in instance with this event, and both of the people believed responsible are currently alive, though one is in critical condition. Seven other people injured are reported to be receiving care at the hospital right now, including Reiner Braun, one of the people credited with stopping the attack, who people are calling a local hero.”

“No way…” Eren mumbled breathlessly, leaning against Jean and standing behind the couch.

“Although press has not been permitted inside of the hospital at this time, we obtained a brief phone interview with Mr. Braun addressing the events of the previous night.”

The screen switched over from the pleasant-looking reporter in her dress and blazer to a plain screen that transcribed the text of the phone call as the audio was played.

“Mr. Braun, what can you tell us about what happened last night? What were you doing when this took place?”

“Well, I was actually at The Expedition because my band, Fall of Gaea, was playing a show there yesterday. During the intermission, when I was in the crowd—hoping to meet everyone who wanted to talk with me or my bandmates, you know—I heard screaming coming from the center of the crowd… I’m not sure exactly what I’m allowed to say on the air, but there were two individuals attacking and, um, biting people. They didn’t seem to be in the right state of mind. I didn’t really see what happened before that, but as soon as I heard the screaming, I rushed in to see if I could help.”

“And thank goodness you did, because from the eyewitness reports, it sounds like you may have saved a lot of lives. Now, we heard that you received injuries from restraining one of the individuals, is that true?”

Reiner’s hearty, familiar laugh reached their ears, followed by, “Oh, yeah, that’s true. I saw the guy ready to lunge at a group of people, so I tried to push them out of the way, and, well, my arm ended up in the way instead. Guy clamped down hard, but it gave me the opportunity to get him into a headlock, so it worked out. Doc says it looks like I should be fine.”

“Well, that’s quite a relief to hear! Is there anything else you would like to say to our audience?”

“I guess I’d just like to advise that everyone stay safe out there. As terrible it is that this had to happen at our show, I feel almost lucky that my bandmates and I were there to do what we could. All of us in our group couldn’t stand if anything happened to this community, and I’m grateful we could help.”

“I’m sure many others are grateful as well. Thank you for your time, Mr. Braun.”

There was a brief pause as the screen swapped back over to the strawberry-blonde reporter, who, clasping her microphone, continued, “The details of this incident appear to be in line with a large string of incidents that have been occurring in the Trost area, and sources suggest that they may be connected. The substance referred to on the streets as “Berserk” is believed to be the common culprit in a string of violent bloodbaths that have taken place over the last few months, and while we have no information on whether or not the perpetrators have been tested for Berserk in their bloodstream, there is reason to believe that this event may be part of the pattern. We urge anyone with information on last night’s events or on Berserk itself to call the station. Over to you, Gunther.”

“Thank you, Petra. We see a—”

“Ha!” Ymir’s face split with a wolfish grin, shaking her head as she glanced back down at her phone, likely typing out a message to Reiner. “Fucking unbelievable. The madman almost gets his arm chewed off and uses it to plug the band. Pfft, I _told_ you guys this fuckin’ oaf was alright.”

After sending her message, Ymir muted the television, walking behind the couch to where her friends were standing.

“I had no idea that Reiner was caught up in that, Jesus Christ,” Eren’s brows were knit in concern. “Did… did everyone else make it out alright? I remember you and Tori were both—”

“Oh, yeah, we were fine. We were still with Mr. Smith and his bodyguards when all of this went down, thankfully,” she nodded.

“Where’s Tori now?” he frowned, glancing past Ymir at the empty room.

“Pfft, sleeping off maybe the worst hangover of her life,” Ymir stuck a thumb in the direction of her room.

“Huh,” Eren slouched in relief. “What all did you guys talk about with Mr. Smith? Y’know, after Mikasa and I… left.”

“So, this guy has mad connections, right? He knows all the other distributors in the area, he knows the usual patterns that arise when some new player enters the game with a new product and how that unfolds—he was talking to me in, like, _statistics_ and shit—which, you know, I don’t remember, because I was really fucking high,” she laughed unabashedly. “Point is, this shit isn’t normal. He doesn’t suspect an individual, at the very least—he thinks there’s some big collaborative team setting this up. Like… professionals.”

Jean, who hadn’t been following the conversation about Mr. Smith that well, furrowed his brows at the news. “But that’s—”

“Not what the news networks were saying, yeah. Which makes you think, is the press in on it? …Assuming that Mr. Smith’s right about everything, of course. Could be a crock of shit, but this guy seems like he really knows what he’s talking about.”

“You don’t think… that this happened because someone figured out that Mr. Smith was trying to look into them, do you?” Eren asked. “You know, like a threat?”

“Nah, I don’t think so,” Ymir contemplated, chewing on her lip. “I guess I don’t know, but it seems like he’s been secretive, and it’s not like he’s _done_ anything yet… On that same note, we actually were able to give him something in return, even if it’s virtually nothing. The networks have been careful about preserving personal information about the people involved in the Berserk scandal… Annie included.”

If she picked up on the hitch in Eren’s breath when she dropped Annie’s name, having forgotten about Mikasa’s somewhat-ex-girlfriend, she didn’t comment on it.

“There’s no information about her relatives or any leads to follow—and y’all know that Annie pretty much doesn’t exist on the internet—so we were able to give him Annie’s dad’s name and number. Dunno what he’s gonna do with it, but I feel like things like this are usually exposed from the bottom up. Givin’ him another little thread to pull at, you know?”

Eren swallowed and nodded along.

“Didn’t give him the means to contact Annie in prison, though—keeping in Mikasa’s good graces,” she raised a brow curiously. “What’s up with that, by the way? Mikasa’s gonna lie to my new coke dealer? The distrust runs so deep.”

“New coke dealer?”

“Oh, yeah, I didn’t tell you the best part!” Ymir clapped her hands together eagerly. “Talked to Mr. Smith a little more about his stuff, too. You and I can call him up anytime for the good stuff now, with a band discount. I think you might even get a student discount, too!”

“I don’t know about that,” Eren rubbed the back of his neck and winced at how sore his throat still was. “I might not take to it that well.”

“That’s probably just because it’s your first rodeo. Moderation is key, my friend,” she slapped a hand onto his shoulder. “I mean, this shit is _good_. You don’t want any, that’s fine, but at least lemme give you his number, just in case.”

“It’s not that I don’t want any, I just—” Eren was quick to flicker his eyes to the side and duck a disapproving look from Jean. “It’s just… been kind of a rough morning, you know?”

“Mm, but you had a good night,” Ymir pressed her lips together and waggled her brows suggestively.

“Ha, _yeah_ , yeah I did,” he breathed out a laugh, raising his brows and nodding to himself… before the meaning of Ymir’s words smacked into him, and he whipped his head to the side. _“Wait—”_

“These walls are as thin as paper,” Ymir shrugged with a smile as both of their faces fell. “And you two are _so fucking loud_.”

As Jean practically burned a hole in his skull—spinning back the memory reel fast enough to make sparks fly and trying to remember if he’d said anything particularly incriminating—Eren was doing little more than blushing down to his toes.

“I wasn’t gonna say anything, but after listening to the two of you get all rage-bonered-up about the idea of the other one fucking her, I feel like it’s my duty to let both of you know,” her voice had taken on a particularly solemn note, and she raised her hand in front of her, as if holding the pause before delivering devastating news. 

“…There’s some real bizarre and powerful cuckold energy coming from that room, and I don’t want to be associated with it.”

“Oh, fuck _off_ ,” Eren snatched a pillow and hurled it toward her, nearly falling over in the process, before Jean caught him around the waist.

Ymir stumbled out of the way snickering, but she raised her hands up defensively for Eren to stop when he looked like he was gearing up for another outburst. “Shh,” she murmured in between cackles, pointing up toward her room. “Don’t wake the baby.”

Eren rolled his eyes as he steadied himself, but he did lower his voice, at least out of consideration for Historia. “Reckon she’s sleeping more soundly than a baby,” he commented more quietly as he glanced toward the staircase.

“Oh, yeah, but she still projectile vomits like one,” Ymir commented with a tired smile, and all at once, Eren noticed that she looked like she hadn’t slept soundly herself. “Adorable.”

“Oh, yikes,” Eren grimaced, looking a little more apologetic. Jean likewise mirrored his look of sympathetic disgust.

“Yeah,” Ymir sighed, before stretching and popping her back. “Some little blondie’s gonna be on a liquid diet for a while. Speaking of… it’s Gatorade time.” She flipped the two of them finger guns, before tucking her hands into her pockets and shuffling into the kitchen.

Jean sighed—mumbling something barely-audible under his breath about “cuckold energy”—and as Eren meditated on their discussion—and on how his cock had swelled just listening to Jean talk about it—the color drained from his face.

“Oh god,” he turned to face the blonde in horror. “She’s right, I was _really_ bonered-up about it.”

“What?” Jean whipped his head downward to look at Eren.

“What?” Eren replied, eyes wide.

“What?” Ymir had slapped a hand on the doorframe and had swung her head back into the room, a dazzling grin splitting her face as if this was the best news she’d ever heard. “Oh my _god_ , I was just teasing you guys… _Really?_ ”

“No, nope, not really, go away!” Jean stepped in before Eren could say anything else, grabbing the pillow off the floor to ward her away.

Her raucous laughter echoed through the empty kitchen as she dodged out of the doorway, and she went back to foraging for Gatorade bottles. Jean turned slowly and pointedly back to Eren, who just let out a low whistle.

“Whew… so… think that tofu’s still hot?” he smiled awkwardly.

Jean looked at him almost haggardly, because even if he—unfortunately—knew what he meant to a lesser extent, he had no idea how to respond to what Eren had just disclosed, and there was no way in hell he’d give that ammo to Ymir. He slowly dragged a hand over his face, before loosely gesturing, “Yeah, I’m sure our tofu’s great.”

“I might take a shower first though,” he mumbled, reaching out and making grabby hands toward Jean. The taller boy acquiesced, wrapping Eren’s arm around him and helping walk him back to the room.

“…Can I suggest you take a cold one?”

Despite glaring, Eren found he didn’t have a lot of room to argue.

  


* * *

“Alright, Mr. Braun,” the nurse smiled warmly. “We’re just going to take one more round of samples this afternoon to see how you’re responding to the antibiotics. But we haven’t seen any signs of infection so far, and your arm’s looking pretty good after the stitches! If everything comes back clear, we may be able to release you sooner than we thought.”

Reiner smiled back appreciatively at the nurse. Once she had started to walk away, he turned his focus back to the short blonde sitting in the chair adjacent to the hospital bed, nose buried in a textbook, and he chuckled softly.

“Hey, Armin, I just wanted to say again that I really appreciate you staying with me.”

“Hm?” Armin mumbled, eyes darting up, before he seemed to realize Reiner was talking to him. He set the textbook down on another chair and smiled worriedly. “Oh, of course, don’t worry about it.”

“Bert should be here soon… I’m sure you probably wanna get out of here and take a shower,” he chuckled heartily.

Armin barked out a soft laugh. “I don’t mind, it’s more time to study anyways… I’m sure it makes me pretty boring company,” he smiled sheepishly.

“Nah, it’s nice to have someone here,” he shook his head, before tilting it towards the textbook. “Got summer classes?”

“Mm, yeah, second term summer classes start next week,” he nodded thoughtfully. As Reiner made a face, expressing both how empathetic he was as well as how much he didn’t miss being in Armin’s shoes, something occurred to the shorter blonde.

“Hey, speaking of Bert, I never saw him at the show last night. Is he okay?”

“Oh, yeah,” Reiner nodded. “He texted me to let me know he felt too sick to come. He feels better now, though. I think he just ate something bad. Lucky that he missed it, probably.”

Reiner breathed out a laugh and shook his head again. “Still not sure exactly what to tell my mom about all this that won’t give her a heart attack.”

“You said she was out of town, right?”

“Yeah. At another company conference. There’s some new big thing going down at her workplace soon or something, she’s been traveling nonstop.”

Armin was mulling over what to say to that when Reiner perked up, looking at the little wall-mounted TV set.

“Oh, dang, I think my interview’s coming on,” he mumbled, before whipping out his phone and laughing to himself as he typed. “Man, Ymir’s gonna lose her shit.”

Armin smiled, looking back at the screen. The interview was exactly what he’d heard before—given that he was there when it was recorded—but he froze when the reporter mentioned who was staying at the hospital, and it occurred to him for the first time. The victims… and the two living perpetrators.

“Hey, Reiner, I think I’m gonna use the bathroom real quick,” Armin said as casually as possible.

“Don’t fall in,” Reiner made his usual joke, and Armin nodded.

Armin wasn’t sure what exactly he hoped he’d find, but curiosity overwhelmed him. He didn’t know if they would even be held in the same hospital wing as Reiner, much less how to find them, but he at least had the advantage—if one could call it that—of having been at the show last night. He knew what they looked like.

As it were, this ended up being his saving grace just by chance as he walked a lap around the wing, trying to attract as little attention as possible. He was slowly striding past one open doorway, catching a glimpse of a nurse standing bedside in discussion with a patient—and he recognized him. He’d seen that face before, marred with deep red strokes of blood. He’d been lying unconscious at Reiner’s knees when Armin had first rushed in, desperate to stop the bleeding.

The blonde tucked out of sight, loitering against the wall to the side of the door and listening intently.

“Now, Mr. Grice, memory gaps are very common with situations like this, when mind-altering substances are involved,” the nurse reasoned.

“No, I’m not saying I don’t remember doing it,” he replied, sounding impatient, nerves frayed. “I’m telling you I _didn’t_ do it.”

Armin’s brows cinched together, and he was trying to piece together what they were talking about, when movement caught his eye. Across the hallway, a trio of men in dark suits paced toward him, dress shoes clapping cleanly against the tile—heading right for Mr. Grice’s room.

His heart leapt into his throat. Pulling out his phone, and attempting to look as nonchalant and distracted as possible, Armin meandered away, settling on a hall bench nearby. It was a little too far for him to pick up conversation, but he could at least see what was going on.

The nurse came out of the room to greet them, carried on a brief exchange, and then let them inside the room, before walking away. Armin couldn’t hear what was happening inside, and moments passed as he waited anxiously in the hall. It couldn’t have been more than ten minutes before the men emerged from the room again. Armin carefully lifted up his phone, snapping a distant picture of them as unnoticeably as he could, and waited until they were well out of sight before standing again.

Hesitantly, he padded over to Mr. Grice’s room again. The man was alone in the room now, and to Armin’s relief, seemed to be doing fine, besides the nervous tremble in his hands.

Armin rapped on the door softly with his knuckles, rousing the man’s attention, who looked up at him distrustfully.

“Who are you?” he asked, regarding him with wide eyes. “You with those guys who just came in here?”

“No, no,” Armin lifted his hands peaceably, realizing he had no idea what to say to him. “I was just… passing by and I saw those guys leave. Are… are you alright?”

In addition to whatever mental turmoil the man was going through, Armin mused that it was possible the man was recovering from the final effects of Berserk even now. Something was off about him, judging by how quickly the frenzied look in eye faded. Raking his fingers through his short-cropped blonde hair, he let out a breath, apparently won over by Armin’s excuse in his current state.

“Fuck, I don’t know what’s going on, man, but something ain’t right,” he mumbled, wide-eyed, before dragging a hand over his face.

“What do you mean?” Armin asked curiously.

“Those guys who came in here said they were legal help, told the nurse they were hired by my parents and she didn’t question it,” he sniffed. He looked up, glancing around as if he thought someone was listening, before lowering his voice. “Look kid, my parents been dead for six years. They sure as hell didn’t hire anybody.”

Armin’s eyes widened.

“I mean, I played along, belly-up, nodded along to everything they said. Didn’t let them know anything was up. But… the only people on my emergency contacts are my brother and his eldest, Colt. Guys didn’t do too much research, I guess.”

“What… did they want?” he proposed the question tentatively.

“No idea. The guys didn’t really ask anything strange, just wanted to know what I remembered about what happened and the condition I was in. They took pictures of my medical forms, too,” he gestured toward a stack of paper on a nearby desk. “Not sure what good it’ll do ‘em, though. The nurses haven’t listened to me so far, so who knows what they’ve written down.”

Armin furrowed his brows. “Haven’t listened to you about what?”

“...You’ve gotta believe me, man,” he looked up at Armin with dire intensity. “I know how it looks, but I swear. I didn’t take any Berserk.”

  


* * *

“Psst, Jean,” a whisper sliced crisply through the silence of the room, like a blade splitting skin.

Despite how clearly it rang through the dark room, it wasn’t nearly enough to rouse its target. Eren wasn’t sure how late it was—it felt like they’d laid down just minutes ago, but for all he knew, hours could have passed. Jean had nodded off successfully, but Eren still tossed and turned long after, mattress creaking and mind humming. Even though it was just as likely that he wasn’t tired because he’d slept past 2 P.M., the weight on his mind—and the tent in the front of his boxers—weren’t helping.

For a moment, after trying to get Jean’s attention, he froze—listening to the soft thrum of the wood crickets outside of the open window—focusing in on the curve of Jean’s ear, on the rumpled ash blonde hair that partially obscured it, and waiting to see if he stirred. The taller boy was facing away from him, but he could still see the side of his profile if he leaned up on an elbow, could still take in that gorgeous jawline and those dark blonde lashes—which, unfortunately for him, still hadn’t fluttered open. Deciding to try again, he leaned closer and pressed a soft kiss to the shell of his ear. Nuzzling closer, Eren brushed his nose and lips over his ear, over the close-shaved dark blonde hair behind it—and Jean smelled so good, something fresh and vivacious, not unlike the summer air wafting through the window.

“Jean,” he murmured again, against the skin of his ear this time. “Are you awake?”

“No,” came the barely-intelligible reply, and Eren grinned triumphantly.

He nestled closer to Jean, realizing a little too late that he’d pushed the rock-hard reason for waking him up directly against his backside. Eren figured he may as well be honest.

“Jean, hey,” Eren whispered again, pressing closer. “I’m horny.”

“You know what? I believe you,” Jean mumbled drowsily.

Eren bit down on his lip to suppress a laugh, before shifting up onto his elbow and kissing Jean’s bare shoulder. His lips drifted even closer to Jean’s neck, breathing out the words in between kisses. “I want you to fuck my mouth.”

Jean shifted and groaned. “I’m practically unconscious, Eren, I don’t even… think I can find your mouth,” he complained, reaching out and weakly slapping his fingers against Eren’s face, as if blindly trying to feel it out.

“Lemme help you,” he purred, grasping Jean’s hand in his own. His tongue slipped past his lips, and he slowly licked along the underside of Jean’s first two fingers—tip tracing gently over the pads of his fingertips—before he took them into his mouth. Lips curling over the knuckles, he drew them slowly out of the soft, wet heat of his mouth and released them with a pop—and this _did_ wake Jean up.

He rubbed his eyes with his other fist, looking a little more lucid. “What… what time is it?”

“Time for my midnight snack.”

“Oh my god.”

Eren didn’t give him the time—didn’t know it himself—and instead brushed his lips tenderly over Jean’s fingertips again. He grazed them as lightly as he could with his teeth, eliciting tingles down Jean’s spine.

“…You’re serious?” he asked, turning onto his side to face Eren. He moved his hand to settle it on Eren’s hip, but he missed—instead weakly palming Eren’s painfully-hard cock, and answering his own question. “Oh. You are.”

Eren nodded almost too quickly, biting his lip.

Jean held his gaze for a moment, before nodding back slowly. “Yeah. Uh… yeah, okay.”

Planting a kiss on Jean’s cheek, with something akin to glee, Eren didn’t waste any time in softly pushing Jean against the pillows, so that he was resting on his back. Shoving the covers out of the way, he hopped lower onto the bed and settled with his head at the waist of Jean’s sweatpants. He slipped his hand up and over Jean’s hip as he kissed along his stomach, and his breath hitched when he smoothed his palm over the thickness of Jean’s cock. Eren’s heart hammered in his throat, as much with excitement as with some strange nervousness—and he realized that maybe there was some other reason underlying his current desperation, his craving for heat and comfort and closeness in this most base way. 

He was sure that once he slept on it, maybe the emotional turmoil of the past two days would dull, until it was soft and fuzzy around the edges—and there’d be no hard feelings over secrets kept or boundaries crossed or trust betrayed—and he’d understand what he wanted, because surely it was wrong to cling to both of them like this. But that didn’t help him right now, in the utter confusion and rawness of his feelings, which left him, more than anything, afraid. This newfound insecurity didn’t stem from knowing that Jean wanted Mikasa, too—surprisingly, with the more time that passed to consider his own new predicament, he found that it didn’t bother him at all, even if it should have. It wasn’t Jean’s desires, but the fear of losing Jean through his own desires, of driving him away. And maybe that was a problem all on its own, but Eren found himself desperate to show Jean how much he wanted him—and _god_ , he wanted him.

His fingers nimbly and hurriedly untied the strings to Jean’s sweatpants. With a swift tug, he pulled them, along with his boxers, down over his hips and past his thighs. Jean’s cock sprang free, already semi-hard from Eren’s deft fingers, and _god_ , just the sight of it—cut and thick and long, flushed pink at the tip—made his mouth water. He eagerly wrapped his fingers around the flesh, already so hot to the touch, and loosely stroked him to full hardness. Massaging his fingers softly into the skin, gently pulling it back down and up again—biting his lip as he felt it swell in his hand. Still stroking him steadily, Eren tilted his head and leaned over, tenderly biting the inside of his thigh. The taller boy jumped, breathing out a soft groan—and Eren could feel his cock pulse hard in his hand. With an almost devilish smile, he pressed more kisses against the sensitive skin, trailing his lips along the soft fuzz on the insides of his thighs. Eren scraped his teeth over the tender flesh almost teasingly, before biting down and sucking hard. Jean shuddered as Eren continued his ministrations, nipping and sucking and kissing, again and again, until Jean was shallowly and desperately thrusting into his hand, moaning aloud. Eren traced his lips up toward his groin, getting ever closer—drinking in how Jean practically trembled as his lips and teeth swept up his thighs—mouth enveloping even more tender skin—breath leaving a trail of goosebumps in its wake. It was reaching the point where Jean could hardly stand it—Eren could tell by how he squirmed, was sure that even with the relief of his hand, his cock was aching something awful. Eren’s own cock throbbed almost unbearably in his own underwear, and he finally took his mouth off of Jean’s quivering leg—spreading his tongue flat and licking tauntingly slowly over his balls.

The sound that Jean made sent an excruciating twinge of pleasure to his own cock, and Eren shifted to press his groin against the bed, holding back a noise deep in his throat. He started stroking more vigorously as he slowly lapped at Jean’s balls again, laving his wet tongue over the soft skin, then over the base of his cock—slowly working his way up. He mouthed at the sides of the shaft, eyes fluttering shut at the feeling of that hot, tightened flesh under his lips—the taste of it, the weight of it pressed to the side of his cheek. Out of the corner of his eye, he could see his fingers curling into the sheets, could see his chest heaving for air—and Jean was precisely how he wanted him.

Drawing back, Eren spared a glance at the tip of his cock—pretty and flushed, shining swollen and wet with pre-cum—and licked his lips before curling them over the head. Jean’s leg jerked up the moment he had taken the sensitive head into his mouth—softly sucking it clean, savoring the salt of it. Eren could feel him unconsciously thrusting upwards, as if trying to push past his lips, further into that delicious heat. The brunette obliged him—letting that thick cock slip through his plush lips, dragging along that velvet tongue, into the exquisite heat of his mouth.

Jean tossed his head back the moment he was engulfed in that wetness and warmth. His knees went weak as Eren took him in as deeply as he could, until the head of Jean’s cock hit the soft flesh at the back of his throat. Jean shivered as Eren drew back, squeezing tightly with his lips, before taking him in again. _God_ , he felt so fucking good—so deliciously tight—and Jean knew he was groaning shamelessly every time his cock plunged back into the heat of Eren’s mouth, carefully and shallowly thrusting up to meet him—a little too carefully and shallowly, apparently. Eren slapped his thigh and slipped off of his rock-hard shaft with a noisy pop.

“ _C’mon_ , I said I wanted you to fuck me,” he breathed, exhilarated, voice hoarse. “So fuck me.”

Jean looked a little alarmed—and a little disoriented, breathless and red-cheeked and dizzy—but he nodded back at Eren. Gently, he clasped the back of Eren’s neck when the other boy leaned over again, threading his fingers through the long dark hair at the base of his skull. And, when Eren went down on him again, all sloppy tongue and flushed lips, he flexed his hips up a little more forcefully, pushed Eren’s head down slightly harder—and relished in Eren’s gratuitous moan when he did so. He gradually picked up the pace—toes curling every time the blunt head of his cock squeezed into the back of Eren’s throat—until he was steadily thrusting into his mouth. Each rough, wet smack of his hips against Eren’s face had hot jolts of liquid pleasure curling in his gut, shivering down his spine. And the more he lost his composure, the harder his legs shook as he rutted into Eren’s lips, the hungrier Eren seemed for it, moaning desperately.

Jean’s hips were a blur as he thrust up to meet his mouth, a thin sheen of sweat coating his body now—from exertion as much as from exhilaration. Starting low in his belly, pleasurable shocks started coursing through him—and the tighter that phenomenal heat clamped around him, the more undone he became—and the mouth he was slipping into with reckless abandon was so divinely soft and wet—

Eren reached between his legs and cupped his balls in the palm of his hand—feeling the deep shudder that rolled up Jean’s spine at that tender contact. He rubbed softly, a slow and sweet friction, before his fingertips dipped lower, pressing into his taint. He could tell Jean was close—could taste it, could hear it—and as he massaged his fingers in slow circles, Jean’s cock still plunging rapidly past his lips, spit and precum soaking his chin, the warmth in Jean’s groin coiled tight enough to burst.

A spasm lurched through his hips, and Jean stilled them, frantically wheezing out, “Eren, shit, slow down… slow down or, fuck, I’m gonna—oh, _fuck_ —”

Even after he had stopped moving, Eren didn’t, still messily swallowing down his whole cock again and again, jaw wide. His cock throbbed pleasurably, almost excruciatingly, with how close he was—achingly hard and drenched in Eren’s spit—and the sight of Eren taking him wasn’t making it any better. Tingles rippled through his body, overwhelmed by the raw pleasure of slipping into that wet, soft-fleshed throat. Even with his grip on the back of Eren’s neck, Jean found he didn’t have the urge to pull him off—could already feel his orgasm coming on—and bucked helplessly up to meet him as the overwhelming pleasure came to a head.

A cry tore its way out of his throat, and his hips lifted off the bed as they slammed against Eren’s mouth. Eren could feel the first hot spurt down the back of his throat as his cock pulsed hard in his mouth—and he groaned appreciatively when Jean started shakily guiding his head up and down again, moaning and rolling his hips up into Eren’s face as he rode out his orgasm. Overwhelming relief coursed through his body with each throb of his cock, coming in thick spurts into Eren’s mouth—most of which Eren caught successfully, some spilling and dribbling out of the corners of his lips. Eren continued sucking until Jean’s thighs were trembling from the sheer intensity of it, until the sensitivity became too much and Jean was patting hurriedly at his shoulder to stop. Only then did he cleanly slip Jean’s cock from his lips, watching the other boy twitch slightly as he did. Despite how much Eren had gulped down, there was still a fair bit of cum in his mouth, and he rolled it over his tongue appreciatively, before leaning in to kiss Jean.

The blonde eagerly leaned up to meet Eren’s flushed and swollen lips. He parted his lips for him, moaning softly when Eren’s tongue slipped into his mouth, passing the spit and semen to him. Jean’s own tongue rolled against Eren’s, and he clasped a sweaty, shaky hand against the back of his neck again as he deepened the kiss. Eren groaned as their tongues slipped over each other, savoring Jean’s taste, and Jean drank his noises down desperately. As he lapped at Eren’s mouth, relishing in the messy kiss, he slipped a hand between them, squeezing at Eren’s cock. To his surprise, Eren’s hips jerked harshly and he drew back from the kiss.

“Mm, fuck, uh, give me a minute,” he smiled, looking kind of embarrassed. Though he barely had a voice to account for, he continued. “That was… so fucking good, and I’m really close. Just… give me a second, I don’t wanna cum in my boxers.”

“So… none of this,” Jean appraised him very seriously, squeezing his hard cock again, and feeling how absolutely drenched the front of his underwear was.

“ _Yeah_ , none of that,” he almost whined, voice strained, as he arched into his touch.

Jean smirked and let his hand go, shifting on the bed so that Eren could nestle beside him and catch his breath. Once he wiped a hand across his chin—doing an exceptionally poor job of cleaning it off—and flopped down beside Jean, Eren pouted. He pressed his fingers to the juncture of his jaw on both sides of his face, massaging them with furrowed brows.

“Your big ol’ dick is too fat, Jean. My jaw _hurts_ ,” he complained.

“Uh, yeah, I bet it does, you fuckin’ python,” Jean replied, dwelling on how Eren had practically unhinged it before going to town on him. “Are you alright?”

“Mm, yeah, I’ll be fi—” the brunette started, before pausing and perking up. “Hey, did you hear that?”

“Hear what?”

“It sounded like the door… I think Mikasa’s back!” he lurched up onto his arms, listening intently. When he heard the staircase creak as someone padded up it quietly, a smile split his face. The chance to talk to her about everything aside, above all else, he was eager just to see her safe—the last thing Jean had recounted to him besides her leaving with Sasha, after all, was Mikasa jumping headfirst into a bloodbath. A fretting background noise had been instilled in his mind ever since, regardless of whether it was nonsensical, and seeing her alright would allow that to fade back into giddy gratefulness.

“I’m gonna go talk to her,” he mumbled, dropping everything else and rolling off the bed, heading to the door—before he paused, looking down. “Oh, shit.”

He set his hands on his hips, blowing air out slowly through his lips, before he started doing jumping jacks—very lopsided ones, on account of his injured ankle.

“…What the _fuck_ are you doing?” Jean asked, looking incredulous.

“Trying to make my dick go down!” Eren exclaimed almost pitiably, looking to be in a hurry. “You know, making the blood go other places.”

“I’m not sure that it works that way,” the other answered, and Eren noticed he had a somewhat uncomfortable look on his face.

“I mean, I can’t just run up there with my dick sticking out! I feel like it sends the wrong message!” he complained, becoming a little breathless from the jumping jacks.

Smacking a hand over his stomach, he quickly stopped jumping, making a somewhat queasy expression. “Oh… you know that feeling when you drink a glass of water on an empty stomach and you can feel it kinda… sloshing around?”

“Gross, Eren.”

The brunette sighed and slapped his hard-on dismissively… looking even more defeated when it barely wobbled out of place, hard as stone. 

“Good god… no, fuck it, I’m just gonna go up there— _no_ , I shouldn’t, I’ll be ready in a minute… I imagine,” he tacked on, not sounding particularly hopeful.

“Wouldn’t it be faster to just get you off at this point?”

“No—well, maybe, I don’t know, but I wanna talk to her _now_ —”

“Get over here,” Jean sighed, and Eren obliged, despite shifting on his feet like he was antsy about it. He noticed Jean’s brow was creased with worry, and he realized, even if the other boy wouldn’t say as much, that Jean didn’t want him to go up there—particularly with a raging hard-on, he figured. And he didn’t want Jean to be upset, but he _needed_ to see her—and maybe, if the boner was the only problem, letting Jean get him off would be sufficient to keep everyone happy.

“I mean, if you’re still really close, then it’ll be quick and you can head up right after.” As Jean talked, he reached out and gripped Eren’s cock—pushing his thumb into the wet fabric at the underside of the head and rubbing in slow circles.

“O-okay, yeah, maybe, maybe you’re right,” he breathed out, voice tight—and the friction and wetness of the fabric over his sensitive head had his legs quivering. Jean’s thumb pressed down harder as he swirled it around the head, matching the motion with strokes of his fingers along Eren’s clothed cock.

“So, would that be alright then? If I sucked you off?” Jean asked, as if waiting for permission—something that would shortly prove unnecessary, since he didn’t realize how much the simple touch was unraveling him. Eren’s cock jumped hard in his hand, and he kept massaging the leaking head through the fabric, maddeningly sensitive.

“Y-yeah, that—oh— _oh_ , wait, fuck—” the feeling that surged out of him took him by surprise, and he cried out and clapped a hand onto the bed post as he doubled over. Jean blinked in mild shock, feeling Eren’s cock throb heavily in his grip, and he realized he was spilling himself into the fabric.

“Oh… I didn’t know you were _that_ close.”

Jean still smoothed his fingers over the fabric as Eren finished up, as his moaning slowly tapered off. Eren stepped back—nearly falling over—and steadied himself against the nightstand.

“…Honestly, I didn’t know either,” he wheezed breathlessly. Eren gave himself a moment to catch his breath, legs like jelly. “Guess I have to change my underwear after all.”

After a moment passed, he seemed to remember he was in a rush again and slipped off the soiled boxers. He wiped them over his front, mopping up the mess there, before tossing them in Jean’s laundry bin. However, the moment he turned, Jean caught him around the wrist.

“She… may have gone straight to bed, Eren,” the blonde mumbled. “It’s late. Couldn’t you talk to her tomorrow?”

And even though Jean approached the topic as carefully as possible, Eren still found himself frowning. He was hopelessly, utterly desperate to see Mikasa, to ascertain she was okay, to talk to her, from the moment she walked in the door—and even if Jean hadn’t said anything offensive, his envy was impeding that. He felt helplessly frustrated, by this and with himself, and he had the urge to call it what it was.

“Come on, what are you jealous for? I mean, clearly, you don’t have to worry that I’m gonna go fuck her,” he griped, gesturing toward the laundry bin, “so what are you jealous about? Which one of us are you even jealous of?”

Jean let go of his hand, brows drawing together in irritation at his last question. Because Eren was right—he _was_ jealous. And Eren knew, internally, that it wasn’t unreasonable for Jean to feel this way—that maybe, after everything he’d admitted to, any normal person would be reasonably insecure about their lover going to the room of someone else they loved, rather than staying the night with them. That Jean’s reaction wasn’t unusual. That maybe it was more unusual for Eren to be unable to fathom why Jean wanted him to stay.

“I mean, I’m _worried_ about her,” Eren expressed. He had made his way over to Jean’s dresser and was putting on a pair of Jean’s underwear. “I have a right to see her—”

“I know you do,” Jean nodded. Reasonable, even if he looked upset about it. He wasn’t going to try to stop him. It had been remarked before that it was rare for Eren to have a reasonable bone in his body—and when he did, it was usually Jean’s.

Eren sighed, backing toward the door. “I’m sorry. I’ll see you soon.”

Jean nodded, holding his distressed gaze, up until he closed the door behind him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, that’s a wrap, pals! I hope to finish up the next chapter soon since they feel like they go together, but I also have a ton going on my personal life (mostly all good and exciting!) and I’m gonna be traveling pretty nonstop for the next two weeks. I’ll be back to it afterwards, though!
> 
> As always, immense thanks to my absolutely wonderful friend Kate (@vxxv on here, @bimikasa on tumblr) for her overwhelming support and for makin’ life super duper craic! (And for tolerating my shenanigans, if that wasn’t apparent sjksdjkdk). If you haven’t already, please treat yourselves by checking out her work! She’s superb! I also want to thank everyone still reading, and anyone else giving this long-winded bitch (me) the time of day! Your words mean more to me than anything, and reading anything y’all have to say always makes my day. ❤️
> 
> I’m @albatrost everywhere that it counts! Talk to you guys soon! xoxo


	5. Gummy Bears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Some progress is (debatably) made, even amidst a fair amount of sore jaws, snowballing, and salted wounds.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sooo... I tried _really_ hard to get this out when it was still May (and technically it is, where I am), but no cigar! Anyhow, it's out now, and I'll save the rest of what I've gotta say til the end! Have fun!!

It was dark, blurred bodies shifting in and out of her vision—cloaked in smoke and dull red glow, or slipping past her in the shadows, or appearing in a flash of light—teeth bared and bloody—before vanishing again. The bodies coursed past her, stumbling past one another the way a brook tumbles over river stones—but she had to fight the current even as it pulled her away, even as more bodies knocked her backwards, because there was something she needed to reach at the crowd’s center. Some cold-sweat, curdled-blood desperation inside of her pushed her forward. And though the center of the chaos was tar-black, though she couldn’t see what she struggled to reach, she could hear the sound.

Sound echoed through her mind, too real and crisp and clear to be imagined. No, it wasn’t imagined—it was remembered.

The sickening squelch of raw flesh ripped from the bone. The agonized wail of a man in pain she couldn’t comprehend, writhing and seizing as blunt teeth snipped through sinew, cleaved and carved the meat from the marrow and swallowed it down—gulping and chewing wetly on thick chunks dappled with fat and gushing red, on tattered skin and torn tendons—

The splintering snap of a jaw, loud enough to rattle her ribs, snapped her eyelids open.

Mikasa lurched up in bed and immediately hung her head between her knees, shuddering through the wave of nausea that wracked her body. Her rapid-fire pulse throbbed heavily in her ears, drowning out all else. Mikasa sucked in a slow and shaky breath through her lips. She began to rock slowly as she breathed, bringing herself and her heartrate back down—and she felt a droplet of fresh sweat roll down her brow. Meditated on the chill it left on her skin. Still keeping her head low, she lifted her hands to either side of her face and held them there.

Judging by the deep golden color of the light spilling through the shutters, she realized that she must have slept later than she thought. Not that it was unneeded—whether plagued incessantly by nightmares or too wired to rest, she hadn’t been able to fall asleep until dawn. She wondered briefly whether her high had been responsible for the richness of horror in her earlier dreams; this night terror hadn’t been as vivid as the rest, after all, so maybe the cocaine and alcohol had finally left her system. The stirrings of a hangover hinted toward that as well, in her aching skull and churning gut—and she sat with her head in her hands, trying to forget about her dream, until she heard the door creak open.

“Oh, you’re awake!” a familiar voice called out, alongside the crinkle of a plastic bag.

Tentatively, the black-haired girl lifted her head and was met with a concerned Sasha, offering up a glass of water.

Mikasa accepted it gratefully, taking careful sips and aiming a measured stare at the wall. It was only after a moment or two that she realized how eerily quiet Sasha had fallen, and Mikasa turned to her curiously.

“What?” she asked, catching the brunette’s frightened gaze.

“…No offense, but if you told me you had passed away in your sleep and you were a ghost now, I would totally believe you,” Sasha offered gracelessly, worried frown deepening as she looked over Mikasa’s pallid face. “Are you feeling alright?”

“Oh,” Mikasa blinked. Between the chaos of last night and the delayed trauma of the memories that followed, she hadn’t paid any mind to how haggard she must have looked. “I’m… fine, really. I just had the dream again.” 

Sasha’s ponytail bobbed as she nodded in understanding. Mikasa glanced down at her own hands—at the crescents of blood still lining her nailbeds—no matter how hard she had scrubbed—and swallowed. “Did… did you see any of it, Sasha?”

“No,” the other girl shook her head sympathetically. “Not really. Armin and I were just trying to get away with everyone else, so we didn’t look back much.”

Mikasa hummed a soft noise in response. She smiled softly as she heard the crinkle of a plastic bag, followed by Sasha loudly chewing on something. Everyone she cared dearly about had made it out alright—and maybe that was enough to emerge from this daze and try to put the berserk-induced violence behind her—

“Are you, uh, feeling good enough to talk about last night?” Sasha raised her eyebrows suggestively and popped a gummy bear into her mouth. Mikasa squinted back thoughtfully—wondering if Sasha was still asking about the contents of her nightmares—but Sasha elaborated before she had the chance to ponder on it.

“Y’know, like, the elephant in the room… or I guess the smaller elephant in the room, if live cannibalism is like, the big elephant in the room,” Sasha clarified. Once she realized Mikasa wasn’t picking up on it, she sighed. “… The literal spooge leaking out of you all over my leg—”

“Oh… _oh_ ,” Mikasa’s eyes widened as she recounted some of last night’s details she had definitely forgotten—and all at once, the overwhelming gravitas of _other things_ that had been smothered beneath her drug-induced nightmares reared up over her. She urgently whispered, “ _Yikes_.”

“Yikes is right,” Sasha nodded sagely. “Which is fine, you know, because you were definitely fucked up beyond recognition last night—” 

“I’ll get you one of those apologetic cookie cakes,” Mikasa blurted out, as sincere in her apology as she was in her confusion, head spinning. 

Utter awe and disbelief. The feeling wasn’t wholly unfamiliar, but its source was. Eren. She had slept with _Eren_. Her heart beat hard enough to make her dizzy at just the thought, and the world may very well have caved in around her—because after what felt like a lifetime of loving him, of _wanting_ him, he had wanted her, too—and it was better than she had even imagined. Yet in a drug-addled state of mind, what had happened was something purely fond and ecstatic, heartfelt and thrilling, something which warmed her inside, something just submerged in her subconscious enough to be dream-like. Now, sober as ever, the act was _real_ —had consequences, had causes she still didn’t understand, had risks—even if it made her overwhelmingly happy. And what they had done and what it meant, these were things she wasn’t remotely ready to cope with—

“Pfft,” Sasha snorted in response, drawing Mikasa back into the present. She was trying not to laugh as she asked, “What’s the cake gonna say? ‘Sorry I was crossfaded and smeared some dude’s cocksnot all over your knees, xoxo’.”

Mikasa snickered. “ _Gross_ ,” she groaned, drawing out the word pitiably as she laughed.

“Don’t you ‘gross’ me, you’re the one who did it!” Sasha exclaimed with a smile, tossing a gummy bear at Mikasa, which bounced off her shoulder.

“Mm, wait, do that again,” the girl popped her jaw open expectantly. Another gummy bear sailed through the air, and Mikasa caught it expertly. She reclined back on Sasha’s pillows as she chewed, and she made a mental note to herself to call the cookie cake shop tomorrow as soon as they opened. Sasha was definitely getting her ‘cocksnot’ cookie cake.

“Okay, so,” Sasha plopped down on her desk chair, and gulping down another gummy bear. “You don’t have to tell me, _but_ … I’m genuinely dying to know who.” When Mikasa was quiet, not discouraging her, she pressed on almost excitedly, “I mean, was it a mysterious stranger? Is it someone I know? Ooh, is it Jean again?”

Sasha ignored the curious and skeptical raised brow that Mikasa shot her when she proposed Jean, rambling on, “I mean, not that I don’t want things to work out between Jean and Eren, and obviously you can do better than Jean—no offense to Jean—but it’d be kinda fun if my two best buddies ‘side from Connie were going out… and he’s always been obnoxiously, ridiculously into you, so that’s—”

Mikasa stopped her, furrowing her brows. “Wait, what? What do you mean Jean’s into me—”

“Oh no, no, no, you are not changing the subject that easily, missy.”

“But I—”

“Unless of course you’re _not_ changing the subject and admitting right now that Jean’s laying pipe to you—” 

“He’s not.”

“Oh.” Her blunt answer finally had Sasha rolling to a stop again.

And Mikasa was once again at an impasse with consequences, both positive and negative. Was this something to which she should admit, or should she sweep it under the rug, at least until she knew how Eren felt? If this was somehow a fluke, despite how she doubted it, then bringing it up would lead nowhere anyways, and she had already caused enough strife between him and Jean. Even so, she had seen that keeping a secret liaison hadn’t worked out well for Jean at all—and maybe if it was only Sasha, there was no harm in giving in. She sighed.

“…It was Eren, actually.”

“Oh.” 

Sasha blinked in surprise. It took a moment to digest, before Sasha’s eyes nearly popped out of her skull. “ _Ohhhh_.”

Sasha laced her fingers together and brought them in front of her lips, mind whirring through questions—before something seemed to occur to her, and she shot a squeamish frown down at her leg. “...Oh.”

“…I know I asked to know, but this makes it worse somehow.” She glanced away from her knee to Mikasa, looking pitiful.

“Would it be better if it was Jean’s?” Mikasa deadpanned.

“Honestly… yes?” Sasha answered, frantically adding, “We’re not gonna unpack that right now.”

The dark-haired girl just lifted her brows in surprise as Sasha continued. “But… _Eren_. I mean, I remember you told me you had a crush on him, what, back in freshman year of high school? I didn’t think that was still a thing… We are thinking of the same Eren, right? Loose-cannon Eren? Six-feet-of-painfully-well-intentioned-anger-management-issues-and-poor-impulse-control Eren?”

“The one and only.”

“…Mikasa, when I said back in high school that you could do better than Eren, and just now that you could do better than Jean, that doesn’t necessarily mean you have to, uh, sum the two of ‘em,” Sasha hesitantly proposed, looking confused.

“It’s not about that,” Mikasa waved her hand dismissively, lips pressed together. “What happened with Jean was an accident, but it was…” she sighed, finally admitting, “It was because of Eren... All of it is because of Eren, I guess.” 

She stared at Sasha as if pleading for her to understand.

The other girl bit her lip, treading carefully with what her friend had just confessed to her, and murmured, “I’m not sure I get it—” 

“At the farmhouse party… I didn’t mean to sleep with Jean. I was thinking about Eren. Jean’s… tall enough, and he smells like Eren’s laundry, and I just thought… well, I wasn’t thinking, I guess,” she murmured. “Same with Annie… if I wasn’t frustrated by the fact that Eren told me he was gonna be dating someone else, I probably wouldn’t have gone home with her.”

Sasha gnawed on the end of her thumb, looking contemplative. “So let me get this straight,” she began. “You were so in love with Eren that… you fucked his girlfriend, and then you fucked his boyfriend? Mikasa, that doesn’t even make sense.”

“That’s not _why_ ,” she sighed, lifting a hand to her forehead. “It just happened that way.”

“Either way… what’re you gonna do now?” Sasha asked sympathetically, holding out the gummy bears. Mikasa reached out and snagged a handful. “I mean, does Eren know how you feel?”

“In not-so-many words, yeah,” she shrugged, rubbing her temples with a hand. “I did tell him, sort of, but we weren’t sober. Who knows what he remembers... Who knows what he told Jean.”

Mikasa opened her mouth to elaborate, when her ringtone cut her off. She whipped her head down to look at the screen, and she felt her blood run hot with guilt—because there was someone else she had forgotten in all of this.

It was the prison’s number.

Curiously lifting a brow as she glanced between Mikasa and the phone as it continued to chime, Sasha stuttered out, “Are, uh, are you gonna—” 

“No,” Mikasa shook her head, and looked up at Sasha with wide eyes. “And don’t answer it.”

The other girl raised both hands defensively. “… So I reckon you haven’t told Annie, then.”

Mikasa raked a hand through her black hair, sweeping the strands away from her face. “What’s there to tell her? I mean… I’ll let her know whatever’s going on when all of us work this out, but for now…it’s a shit show, right? I don’t know what the point would be. I’m sure she has enough to worry about in jail.” She dawdled for a moment, before a soft scowl graced her face. “Besides, it’s hard to fathom how much I owe her, when apparently she couldn’t even bother telling me that she was complicit in killing people.”

She spoke coldly, riling herself up as she reflected on it. “I mean, has she seen, actually seen, what it does to people? What does that say if she has, and is out here selling it anyways? How the hell do you keep a secret like that?”

Personal feelings meshed with the horrors that had haunted her all night in her drugged haze, and even as she tried to calm herself, tried to remember that _this_ wasn’t Annie, tried to convince herself that maybe Annie had no idea—it became harder to believe. Sasha’s phone beeped before the brunette could say anything—and maybe it was better that it did, Mikasa mused, because Sasha shouldn’t have to be drawn into this—and she perked up with surprise once she scanned the message.

“It’s Reiner,” Sasha prefaced, and Mikasa frowned worriedly, remembering how he’d looked the last time she had seen him.

“How’s he doing?”

“Not too bad… Armin’s been at the hospital with him, and Bert is on his way,” Sasha mentioned. “The message is actually for you, though… He’s asking if you wanna be on TV.”

  


* * *

“If… if you didn’t take anything—and trust me, I believe you—how did this end up happening?” Armin eased into the subject carefully as he could, hands raised in deference.

“I dunno, man,” he sniffed, closed his eyes as if to think. “I know how it looks… And I know I’m not the most credible source. I’ve had little problems with memory loss here and there.”

When the blonde looked at him quizzically, he reached over to the bedside table and flipped open a leather wallet. He drew out a one-week plastic token and pinched it between his fingers, lifting it up so Armin could see. “I’ve been in recovery.”

Armin peered down, reading the printed name of the rehabilitation center off of the back of the coin, recognizing the name and remembering its specialty. Opioids.

“But I mean, I _remember_ what happened before. I remember the feeling kicking in,” he butted in defensively, as if concerned that he may have impugned himself, and tucked the token back away. “There’s no way I black out long enough to find, buy, and take some drug I’ve barely heard of. And what the hell would I do that for anyways? I was with my buddies all night, never left their sight, and they’ll back me up on that. Never drank anything besides a ginger ale, either. Feeling came out of nowhere.”

Armin knit his brows together. “What did it feel like, if you don’t mind me asking?”

Mr. Grice shrugged. “At first I just… felt like I was getting hot. Not feverish either, just _hot_. All over my body, like this hot, sweaty, steamy feeling... It was just kind of uncomfortable at first, but it welled up fast, and it hurt, like my muscles were swelling up—like they were gonna burst. Then my vision started going funny—in a way I can’t really describe—and that’s the last thing I remember.”

“And your friends were with you the whole time?” he inquired.

“Up until I started feeling unwell, then one of them went to get me some water,” he dragged a hand sloppily over his mouth. He stared pensively, as if trying to haphazardly piece things together—debatably still muddled from the lingering effects of the berserk—before grunting out a frustrated sigh. “It doesn’t check out. I’d remember. I swear to god, if I didn’t know better, I’d say someone spiked my drink or something.”

“Spiked your drink?” Armin asked skeptically. “Berserk has to enter the bloodstream directly…” he mused, until something seemed to strike him. “Unless… Did you ever get your blood results back?”

“Hm? No, they tested it, but they said they won’t have the results until evening.”

“So…” Armin started, thinking out loud and glancing past Mr. Grice entirely. “Isn’t there… a possibility that it’s not berserk at all?”

Mr. Grice started slightly, reaching up to scratch behind his ear. This clearly hadn’t occurred to him, either, due to the shared suspicions of the obvious. However, all at once Armin became keenly aware of how much time had passed. Before the man in the hospital bed could speak, Armin whipped out his phone to check the time.

“I’ve, uh, I’ve got to go,” Armin peeked past his shoulder. “But I’ll be back later, alright?”

Mr. Grice nodded back blankly, hands fidgeting in his lap. Armin tried to offer him a smile, which he was certain came out sadder than he had hoped. He couldn’t really fathom the turmoil, physical and mental, that he must be wrought with, and his eyes were sincere as he sighed.

“Take care.”

Armin turned the corner crisply, sparing one last look over his shoulder—and he really should get back as quickly as possible to avoid attracting attention, whether from Reiner, the staff, or—god forbid—someone _else_ , like Mr. Grice’s suited visitors. No one had seen him leave the room, as far as he could tell, and his head swiveled back around, prepared to stride back to Reiner’s room as timely as possible—when he nearly slammed face-first into someone’s chest.

“Whoa, sorry—” Armin stammered, reeling back, until he recognized the other component of his near-collision. “...Bert?”

“Oh, Armin,” he smiled, looking a little bit uneasy. “I was just looking for you.”

“You were?” Armin asked, perhaps a little too quickly. It wasn’t unusual for sweat to line Bertholdt’s brow, or for a nervous air to tint his gestures—but for some reason, Armin found himself dwelling on the anxious crease in his countenance.

“Well, yeah… Reiner said you’d left to use the bathroom a while ago, and he was worried you were lost.”

He had no reason to distrust either of them, but he found himself wanting to hoard the information he had stumbled across. Perhaps it was because yesterday, as he had confided his half-baked ideas in the library, the only person he had trusted to entertain him was Mikasa. Perhaps he felt that Bert and Reiner wouldn’t be pleased with all the thought and sympathy he’d invested in the case of a man who had nearly chewed Reiner’s arm off. Either way, some uneasy gut feeling urged him on, and he felt the white lie slipping out of his lips before he could stop himself.

“Ah, yeah, I was actually,” he smiled sheepishly. “I was hoping if I poked my head into enough rooms I’d find Reiner’s eventually, but… no such luck.”

Bert smiled back at him, but there was still some unspoken nervousness in the gesture. Some enigmatical worry that Armin couldn’t quite place. The blonde supposed that maybe he was just anxious to get back to Reiner—and sure enough, the next words out of Bert’s mouth supported his guess.

“We should probably head back to Reiner’s room,” he suggested, and Armin nodded. The two walked side by side, in a comfortable quiet, before Bertholdt timidly proposed, “You know, you don’t have to stay any longer if you don’t want. Reiner already feels bad about having you stay through the night.”

“Oh, no, it’s totally fine,” Armin insisted. “I wanted to make sure he was okay.”

Time was of the essence, and while he did want to make it as clear as possible that Reiner wasn’t infringing on his time anyways, he also knew he couldn’t easily accept Bertholdt’s polite offer to go home. Who knew how much time remained until Mr. Grice’s visitors came back, or until Mr. Grice himself became lucid enough to be reasonably suspicious of Armin? Although he needed to at least be at the hospital by evening, he needed to do so in a way that wouldn’t warrant suspicion.

“I would love to get a shower,” he admitted with a small smile. “I can bring you guys some dinner, though. There are tons of places on the way here, and I know Reiner hates the hospital food.”

Bertholdt looked conflicted by the offer, and before he could announce any hesitance he and Reiner would have in imposing, Armin lifted a hand to cut him off.

“Really,” he spoke warmly. “I insist.”

  


* * *

The door arced shut behind her, and she pushed slowly until a click as soft as a whisper broke the silence. Her feet tread gossamer-light over the floorboards as she crossed the room. The plans she had to change out of Sasha’s sweatpants and into her own pajamas evaporated the moment her eyes passed over those beckoning bedsheets; despite sleeping well into evening, she was still exhausted. Mikasa was as quiet as she could be, as not to rouse her roommates—even if some of them were already up. She swore she had heard voices when she came in, but it wasn’t terribly unexpected that people would still be awake at this hour.

What was unexpected, however, was the knock at her door.

Heart leaping into her throat, she turned to face the door. Her pulse hammered in the cage of her ribs, and she said nothing. If it was who she expected, then he wouldn’t wait too long before coming in anyways. 

And she was right.

“...Mikasa?” she heard the soft murmur as the door gingerly swung open again. It was a voice she’d know anywhere.

Although barely twenty-four hours had passed since they had last seen each other, the immense strain of the previous night had stretched that length of time out, taut and tenuous. And even as it felt like she hadn’t looked into those eyes in forever, she barely had time to release a breath before he had barreled into the room and wrapped her in a hug.

Everything else melted away—the sore and sleepy ache in her body, the dire consequences, the dread for the conversation she had to have with him. Her heart felt as though it burst free of her ribs, filling her up to her fingertips with warmth—and she felt helpless to do little more than twine her arms tight around him, nestle her face between his neck and shoulder. In a lot of ways, nothing had changed, she thought, letting waves of relief wash over her, brush up the back of her neck, tingle softly at the base of her skull. Reveling in the comfort of being home.

It was a comfort they were putting in jeopardy, she noted with a lump in her throat, whether or not Eren wanted to be with her.

“I was so worried,” his whisper stirred her from her thought, and she tucked it away in the back of her mind. Breathed in deeply, felt the pulse in his neck beat softly against her cheek. “I mean, everyone said you were alright, but still, I hadn’t seen you, and they said you were _fighting_ them, so I—”

She smiled against his bare skin as he continued to think aloud, sounding almost bashful about his own concern. “I’m alright.” She felt his breath fan out over her shoulder when he sighed in relief, and she relished in his warmth for a moment longer.

It was ultimately Mikasa who broke them apart, leaning back to appraise him as well—and he stepped back to oblige her. The moment he shifted his weight onto his other foot, he winced before he could stop himself.

“...But you’re not,” she frowned, honing in on how quickly he leaned back off of his tender ankle. “You’ve got a limp. What happened?”

“Hey, it’s nothing, really,” he clasped her cheek in his hand to draw her gaze away from it, cheesing through her disapproving look. “Fell off the stage. Just learned the hard way that not everybody’s cut out to do their own stunts.”

He tapped her nose at the last comment and she struggled to keep her expression stern. “You’ve been icing it?”

“Yeah, Jean’s been on nurse duty hardcore. Been makin’ me keep it raised and everything,” he laughed, but the second that Jean’s name slipped out of his lips, he saw something shift in Mikasa’s expression.

The easygoing air of normalcy froze stiff—because Jean wasn’t just their friend, or Eren’s boyfriend. He was a reminder, if not only because of what had happened behind his back. And all at once she became acutely aware of how much Eren was wearing—or how little—and an uncertain knot twisted tight in her stomach. Mikasa didn’t know what Eren remembered, but she still swallowed thickly, and what left her lips was more of a statement than a question.

“Does Jean know?”

No beating around the bush, then, whether or not he was prepared for it. 

“Mikasa…” he started softly, smile falling, expression enigmatic. It _wasn’t_ simple to approach, especially when her own reaction was just as hard to read—the hard acknowledgement and the question tinged with guilt gave little away.

She stared back evenly.

“Yeah. Of course,” he answered, and even as her stomach dropped, it didn’t surprise her. If anything, it was more unthinkable that he’d keep this a secret.

But that meant he had told Jean, and he had been taking care of him all day anyways—so Jean had forgiven him? Were they back together? Even if the idea that this was all a slip-up churned her gut, she told herself that maybe things were better this way. Easier this way. It wasn’t what she wanted, but she _did_ want Eren to be happy—and he had been before this, to the best of her knowledge.

“Well… good,” she swallowed, looking to the side. “He should. I’m… glad that things are gonna work out.”

“Wait, what?” Eren perked up, confused by the finality in her tone.

She sighed. “Before any of this, you were both happy. You’re good for each other, and with each other, and I’m glad if this means you can go back—”

“Hey, what’re you saying?” he was frowning now. Mikasa braced herself.

“You should get back together with Jean.”

Before he could say anything, before he could fully decipher how she was interpreting things, she quietly clarified. “Everything was fine before… Just go back to that. Just go back to then.”

This was giving up what she wanted—and it might even work. She would never risk losing him through any means, and he would be happy. Yet there was a part of her—one yearning to yield, to snap and tumble back into her old ways—that knew that all of it, everything she did for him and every bit of concern, was for her sake as much as it was for his. It was this part of her that was just a little too selfish to give up. And maybe Eren knew this, knew her, just as well as she did.

“We can’t just go back,” Eren frowned and pressed on. “Things changed. More than we thought.”

Her brows cinched together, and—knowing what she knew now—it was hard to tell if he was talking about his own feelings for her, or Jean’s.

“I mean, Annie was good for you,” Eren prodded at a spot he knew was tender. Frustration mounted in her expression the harder Eren pushed, but he kept on. “Are you just gonna go back? After what you told me and what happened, are you just going to go back to Annie and pretend it didn’t? After all, you were happy. You always said it felt like she understood you in ways a lot of people didn’t—and it seemed like you understood her, too—”

“I thought I knew Annie!” she snapped, harsh enough to snip the words from his mouth. Once he was quiet, her outburst seemed far too loud and large for the small room. And certainly, the distrust and pain she felt from Annie’s arrest roused her to anger, but it wasn’t alone. It smoldered hot over an uneasy bed of guilt, deep in her gut.

“And what’s happening between Annie and I has nothing to do with this anyways—”

“Doesn’t it?”

She sent him a flat glare, but swallowed down a retort, closing her eyes. She slowly continued, “It’s not even the same thing, Eren. Annie lied to me and went to jail—we’d be on the rocks anyways. We’ve known Jean forever. You know who he is.”

She paused thoughtfully and looked him in the eyes as blankly as she could, as if daring him disagree. “...And I know you still want him.”

He answered the challenge as honestly and helplessly as he could. The air was so silent and still that when he finally spoke, his words seemed to ripple through the air, as if they were humming on a plucked string. “Yeah. I do.”

Hesitantly, carefully, he took a step toward her—as bold and bashless as he was able to be—as he admitted, “And I want you, too.”

Mikasa felt the rush of air leave her lungs. Her head spun at hearing those words, something that was perfectly impossible for so long, something that had giddiness bubbling up in her breast—and her chest squeezed tighter, as if sucking in a breath would shatter the illusion. She was still breathless as he walked toward her, breathless as he took her chin softly in his fingers and waited. And even as some tiny and helpless frustration seized inside her—something that wanted to scream _“why now?”,_ even though she was certain Eren hardly knew any better than she did—it was overwhelmed. She was breathless as she nodded, so gently it was barely discernible, and leaned in to meet his lips.

To discard noble resistance, to slip effortlessly into what she wanted, was easier than she had thought. It was slow, and gentle—none of the desperation of their first kiss, but all of the need. And, in the moment her mouth parted and her tongue gingerly traced across the bottom of his lip, the moment that she finally heaved a deep and shaky breath—it was interrupted when a scent all but smacked her in the face. Straight-up dick breath.

She understood the moment her tongue swept over the salt on his lip, yet she laved her tongue across it again, thinking. It should have given her pause: he didn’t just want Jean too—he was _having_ Jean, had gotten him off maybe minutes ago, had sucked him clean. Yet she was unable to summon that same guilt from before—if anything, as strange as it was, the feeling lifted, because clearly things weren’t so bad for Jean after all. Oddly-placed happiness for Jean aside, inexplicably, the urge to laugh welled up inside her. Because really, wasn’t it appropriate?

“Jesus, Eren,” she murmured, smile curling at the edges of her lips as she recounted his past words to her. “Brush your teeth.”

His mouth stopped moving against hers. A handful of seconds passed before he understood what she meant—and the instant he remembered, he drew back, eyes wide and mortified. In all likelihood, she thought, he really had completely forgotten. She didn’t give him the chance to form whatever apologetic and embarrassed thought he was working on. Casting reservations aside, she clasped the back of his neck and drew him back into the kiss in earnest.

She wasn’t sure what drew her lips lower. She wasn’t sure why she felt the urge to show him that this was okay, that she wanted him anyways. That she accepted and acknowledged them together. She wasn’t sure if that was the only thing there was to it. Either way, her lips drifted down past his… dragging over the sticky-drying mess that he had haphazardly wiped across his chin earlier. He froze as she kissed across his chin and mouth. Her lips parted, and the tip of her tongue lapped tantalizingly slowly over the skin, tasting the salt and bitterness. Curiosity drove her further, deeper into this bizarre territory.

While there was no denying that Jean was a part of this now, it was easier to accept than she expected. She hardly felt the jealousy that she had felt half a year ago, when Eren had first mentioned that he went on a date with Annie. It was hard to tell if that had more to do with the fact that she had known Jean for so long, or if it had more to do with what she _didn’t_ know about Jean—and the strangely intimate things she felt she was learning, whether or not she should be. Mikasa had never truly envisioned having Eren all to herself, had been ready to try to give him away to Jean. So if she had to share him with Jean now, regardless of fairness, so be it.

Her lips curled over his chin softly. She licked clean the evidence of Jean’s release, tenderly running her tongue up to Eren’s bottom lip—still swollen from how Jean had used his mouth—and slipping it inside, rolling it against his own. She felt more than heard the soft groan he released at the tender touch. Whatever ambiguous boundaries she was pushing past, he was, too.

Their kiss deepened, mouths meshing and hot breath mingling, Jean’s taste on their lips, and they stumbled until the backs of Mikasa’s legs bumped against the bed. She fell easy, pulling him down with her, against her, and they shifted in the sheets until their heads rested on the pillows. The moment she hit the mattress, she deflated, familiar exhaustion washing back over her. Judging by how the hand cupping her cheek had gone limp, how his lips brushed and curled over hers so slowly, he was tired, too. Relishing in each soft and curious kiss, eyes fluttering shut, breaths tapering off.

She didn’t remember the last thought she had before she drifted off, but it was a happy one.

  


* * *

The sun was high when she stirred. Warm beams of light spilled through the window, crystalline and crisp canary. She breathed in slowly—the fresh and familiar smell of clean sheets and sun-warmed skin—and she peeled her eyes open. It took a moment for her bleary eyes to focus on his shoulder, dark against the stark white pillow, but once they had, she leaned forward to gingerly press a kiss against it. Eyes drifting along his body, she ruminated on the smooth feel of his skin against her lips. He slept on his stomach, sheets bunched and wrapped around his hips. Tentatively, experimentally, she reached out and ran her knuckles softly up his spine. Kissed his shoulder again, brushing her lips over the deep tan skin. Savored a moment that tasted like heaven. Because—god—she _could_ now, couldn’t she?

Twenty or so minutes passed, and—though she was easily content to stay there forever—she realized she didn’t know what time it was, and there were errands she should run before the midday rush. Carefully, she sat up and shrugged the sheets off, trying to slip out as quietly as possible—but the shuffling still disturbed him. Dark lashes twitched, fluttered open, and he peeked up at her drowsily.

“Mm, Mikasa?” he mumbled.

“Hey,” she smiled, leaning over to brush the tousled dark hair away from his face. She turned and finished prying herself from the sheets, getting up.

“Where’re you going?” he yawned, rolling over onto his back.

“Out, I’ve gotta run some errands real quick.”

“Oh,” he rubbed the heel of his palm against his eye, glancing around. “I should probably get up too, then.”

“You, uh, you don’t have to,” Mikasa offered, a little worried that he felt he had to leave.

“Nah, I’m good. I think I probably slept for like twenty out of twenty-four hours yesterday, anyways,” he grinned sheepishly.

They chatted as she got ready and shrugged on new clothes, and it was casual, softer around the edges than either of them had expected. And between the two of them, it could have stayed that way, as if nothing in the world was awry. Unfortunately, it wasn’t just the two of them for very long. Mikasa cracked the door to her room open the same moment Ymir waltzed out of the bathroom. 

The brunette woman barely did a double take of Mikasa and the figure behind her, before whipping her head back toward the bathroom, barking out a frantic, “Cover your tits, Historia! There’s a _man_ up here—oh, nevermind, it’s just Eren.”

Ymir dropped any alarm and slung her wet towel over her shoulder, letting it slap against her back and soak the strap of her sports bra. Historia, wrapped in a towel, leaned out to peek at the three in the hallway.

“So… what, uh, what’re you doing up here, buddy?” Ymir grinned awkwardly, giving him a somewhat suspicious once-over. “Don’t you usually stay downstairs?” The ‘with Jean’ went unspoken.

“Sleepover,” Eren answered nondescript, and Mikasa was quick to nod. He gave her his own curious look and changed the subject. “ _You’re_ up before noon?”

“Ah, yeah, we’ve got a party with big pharma tonight,” she stuck a thumb in the blonde’s direction. “Pretty fancy, so we’re getting ready early.”

Looking confused, both Eren and Mikasa stared at Historia expectantly.

“Yeah, my dad… actually invited me to the Reiss Pharmaceuticals annual dinner,” she shared.

“Wait, and you’re going?” Eren furrowed his brow, before looking around for confirmation. “We still hate this guy, no?”

“Yeah, no, we do,” she clarified, nodding. “I just figured he’s gotta be in pretty deep shit if he’s reaching out to me. So Ymir and I are scoping it out and/or ruining his life. Depends.”

“Ahhh, okay,” Eren sighed in relief. “I was about to be like ‘damn, we’re really out of the loop ’.”

Ymir smiled somewhat mischievously. “Well… I’d say a lot of us are kinda out of the loop, huh?”

“Time for me to get groceries,” Mikasa blurted out abruptly, turning to walk down the stairs. Eren hurriedly looked at her and back at Ymir and Historia, before following suit.

“Time for me to… walk her to the door,” he gestured lamely, before walking down the stairs.

And that was precisely what he did, loitering in the foyer with her as she fumbled in her purse for her keys.

“You want any company?”

“You’d probably need clothes for that,” she suggested. “But no, I’m alright. One of the errands is a personal favor for Sasha, anyways,” she said as indifferently as she could manage.

He nodded in understanding. Before she could turn to face the door, he caught her gently by her chin to kiss her goodbye. It was something that would take a while to get used to, if she was given the chance, but even if it surprised her, she leaned into his touch all the same—twining her arms about his neck, pressing close to him. There was warmth in her cheeks when she finally drew back, suppressing a smile once she had turned away and walked through the door.

Eren was smiling as well, mind reeling as he tried to process everything that had happened… before he promptly spun around and locked eyes with Jean, standing in the hallway behind him. 

His soaring spirits plummeted fast, some cold, guilty sinking suddenly curling in his gut. A guilt that had conveniently evaded him until this moment.

“Jean… hey,” he began awkwardly, trying not to sound too surprised.

Jean wore no expression, arms crossed as he leaned against the wall. After a moment, he just sighed. “What’re you doing, Eren?”

“I, um,” he stuttered. “I don’t know.”

That, at least, was the truth.

Jean kicked off the wall without another word, walking toward the kitchen. Eren blinked for a moment, dumbfounded, before quickly pleading, “Wait, wait, wait,” and scrambling after him.

“Jean,” he cornered him pouring out a bowl of cereal.

“What?” he asked defeatedly and irritatably, not looking up from the counter.

“I, uh, I think we’re all kinda on a different page—”

“Ha, yeah, no kidding,” he scoffed bitterly.

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t—”

“You know, if I didn’t know better,” Jean ventured, an unpleasant edge to his voice. “I’d say it’s a pretty great way to get back at me, if you were still pissed that I slept with her.”

“...What’re you saying?” he wrinkled his nose and drew back.

“Just that it’s convenient that, after I tell you I just want to be with you, and you figure out I want her—after _you_ know how much I wanted both of you for so long—you decide all at once that you wanna start—”

“You’re, what, accusing me of using her just to piss you off?” Eren scowled, temper flaring tenfold.

“I _said_ if I didn’t know better… I didn’t say I thought you were, but it seems like—”

“You are thinking it though, or at least considering it! You wouldn’t even bring it up otherwise!” he snarled, smacking him on the shoulder.

“What fucking right do you have to be mad at me, Eren?” Jean glowered, turning to face him the moment Eren had laid his hand on him.

For some reason, the idea that Jean could even fathom that Eren was using her—toying with her feelings, fucking her just to get to him—riled him up faster than little else. And maybe this anger was far less deserved than the jealous anger that was gnawing away at Jean, but even the acknowledgement wasn’t enough to clamp down on his tongue as he snapped, “You don’t get to say shit like that! You don’t know what the hell we’ve been through together, right? You don’t know shit!”

On the last word, Eren shoved him back—something that would have done little more than provoke Jean, if he hadn’t stumbled backwards, stepped on the bottom of his pajama pants, and slipped. Jean plunged backwards and cracked his jaw hard on the edge of the counter, before tumbling the rest of the way to the floor.

“ _Shit!_ ” Eren cried out, dropping down on the tile next to him. “Christ, Jean, I didn’t actually mean to hurt you—”

Jean slapped his hand when he reached out to help him, lifting a shaky hand to his injured jaw and wincing at the light pressure. 

“Is it broken?” Eren asked worriedly, reaching out again.

“No,” he grimaced, shrugging away. “Get off of me.” He grasped at the counter with his other hand, lifting himself to his feet as Eren leaned back.

“...Do you need me to—”

Jean huffed out a sigh, sounding tired. “Just leave me alone, Eren.”

He waited for Eren to leave the kitchen, still nursing his wounded jaw.

  


* * *

“Ymir,” Mikasa called out as she padded down the stairs, feet falling a little more heavily than usual in her rush. She turned the corner and swerved into the kitchen, where she had last seen her. “Ymir?”

The freckled girl was still loitering near the counter, peering into the grocery bags that Mikasa had left there, and smiling wolfishly when she saw the wide flat box with the cookie shop’s label on it.

Her fingers skirted the edge of the box, before lifting at the corner for a peek. “Hey, you got a cookie cake—”

Mikasa’s hand was quick to push the lid back down firmly before she got a glimpse. She tried to coach the flush from her cheeks before the other girl noticed. “Don’t touch. It’s for Sasha.”

Ymir pouted, but Mikasa ignored her as she continued, “Do you know if Jean’s home?”

“Hm? Yeah. He’s in his room teaching a master class on brooding, if you want a lesson.”

“Thanks,” Mikasa nodded, turning to the fridge, but Ymir stopped her.

“Hey, if you’re willing to disturb his peace anyways, do you mind asking if he has a suit I can borrow?”

Mikasa sized her up, before shaking her head. “No. Won’t fit. Jean’s a fucking tree.” She opened the cabinet to pull out a plastic bag.

“C’mon, you won’t even ask?” she crossed her arms, pouting as Mikasa opened the fridge.

“I’m not gonna be held responsible for you looking that bad,” she raised her eyebrows, clutching handfuls of ice cubes and placing them in the bag. “We’re about the same height. Just borrow my slacks.”

“Oh,” Ymir dropped her arms to her sides again, seeming startled. “Thanks, Mikasa.”

She gave a curt nod and left, walking quickly down the hallway, until she reached Jean’s door. If Ymir’s description and Eren’s state told her anything, it was that she’d probably be turned away if she knocked, so she didn’t bother.

“Jean?” she opened the door, slowly. He jumped slightly from where he sat on his bed, looking up with wide eyes, and she walked into the room.

“You want some ice?” she offered, tossing her head to gesture at the bag he had pressed to his jaw.

“Uh, no, I’m… I’m good,” he glanced away, disgruntled.

She pursed her lips, looking unamused. “Jean, you’re holding a Ziploc bag full of lukewarm water on your face. Take the help.”

He wordlessly lowered the bag, looking embarrassed, and nodded slowly. She traipsed over to the bed and sat beside him.

“Thanks,” he admitted as he took the bag from her hand and placed it against the bone. Sighing as numb relief leached into his jaw, he slouched, before looking at her with a confused quirk in his brow.

“I’m sorry,” she said.

“...What?”

“For this,” she frowned, gesturing at the forming bruise. “I’m guessing I had a part in it.”

Jean breathed out a laugh and shook his head, looking at the floor. “You’re good, really. Nothing to be sorry for. Not sure if you noticed, but there’s already a pretty long-standing precedent of Eren and I bruising each other’s faces.”

Mikasa snorted softly at that, but her smile was transient. “Well… Eren was definitely crying in my room while I was gone and angrily denying that he cried once I got back, but he wouldn’t tell me why. All he said was that you were hurt and it was his fault, so I thought ice was in order.”

Jean made a soft noise of acknowledgement, but didn’t say anything else. A moment of silence passed between them. Mikasa took a sharp breath. “I really didn’t mean for any of—”

“Mikasa,” he interrupted. “If you’re gonna apologize for… you and Eren, you shouldn’t. You don’t need to be sorry for how you feel. It’s… not a surprise, exactly.”

She raised a skeptical eyebrow, teasing, “What, did Sasha tell you I had a crush on him way back in high school?”

“Well, yeah, actually,” he chuckled. “But that’s not what I’m talking about.”

She swallowed. Biting down her instinctive urge to deny it was a fresh feeling. After so long trying to keep her feelings for Eren a secret, it felt bizarre to have them reciprocated and publicized, spoken aloud. She wasn’t sure exactly why she followed with what she did—evening the playing field, perhaps, or clearing the air—but the words spiraled out either way.

“I didn’t know how you felt.”

Jean mulled over the black-haired girl’s words carefully. “Well, Eren and I didn’t really even start _talking_ talking until a few months ago—”

“I’m not talking about your feelings for Eren.”

“Oh.”

A carmine flush crept up the nape of his neck. All things considered, he stumbled over his words with more grace than she anticipated. “Was, uh—did, did Sasha tell you?”

She nodded once. “Yeah. Not on purpose, I think.”

To her surprise, he barked out a laugh. “She’s not great at keeping secrets, I guess.” After everything that had happened recently, for some reason, the weight of this earth-shattering news—that the girl he was in love with had realized that—was now light as a feather. 

“No,” Mikasa shrugged, trying not to look amused. “She’s really not.”

“Though really, I’m surprised it took Sasha telling you,” he smiled good-naturedly, before adding, with some degree of self-deprecation, “Especially back when I would race to take the bus home, get my mom’s car, and rush back to school to pick you up every single day you had boxing practice.”

That did make her breathe out a laugh, and she reminisced, “I remember you were _so_ mad when Marco let it slip that it wasn’t your car.”

“I somehow thought that’d be so much cooler,” he snickered. “You know, if I had my own mini-van.”

“Sexy as hell,” she nodded seriously. “Mrs. Kirschstein has taste for days.”

Jean laughed, and the two fell into a comfortable quiet. Mikasa cleared her throat, and leveled him with a sincere glance. “I did really appreciate that, though. I’m glad I was able to stick with boxing… There’s no way I could have done it if I didn’t have a ride, and there’s no way Grisha would have picked me up, even if it was all his idea.”

“Yeah, how did that ploy of his work, anyways?” he japed. “Feeling less goth yet?”

“Mm, you tell me,” she propped her chin up in the palm of her hand, drumming thoughtfully on her chin with her fingers. Boxing and martial arts—things which came so naturally to her now, which had imbued her with strength and discipline, to the point that the practiced and fluid ripple of her muscles behind a strike came as easily as the snap of her fingers—weren’t things she’d always taken an interest in. It was Grisha who urged her to join the high school’s boxing team, in hopes that the physical and social activity would coax her from her latest fashion phase. An extracurricular that sported a perfect vent for teenage frustration.

“Sometimes I think it just made me more adamant,” she raised her brows. “I was not happy about it. The fishnet arm warmers followed shortly afterwards.”

The sandy-haired boy huffed out another laugh, and she gave him a pointed look, clearly trying to gauge how much he remembered. “At least I had a buddy in the goth music scene.”

“If only,” he chuckled warmly, quickly latching on to what she meant. “I remember I heard you say _once_ to Armin that you liked Jack Off Jill… I drove to Hot Topic and bought all of the albums the next day.”

“No way,” Mikasa feigned shock as poorly as possible, deadpanning, “I thought your mom already had those in her car.”

“Shut up,” Jean groaned as he laughed, and Mikasa smiled.

“Honestly, though, I didn’t know that. I thought you were into them, too.”

“Well, they grew on me,” he grinned sheepishly. A handful of seconds passed before Jean started tapping out a beat against the edge of the bed, “C-c-c-c-call me cumdumpster…”

Mikasa’s eyes lit up, and she jumped in with, “C-c-c-c-call me a cunt.”

The two faced each other, raising their voices as they finished, “C-c-c-call me clever, is _that_ still okay?!” Their hands met with a noisy high-five at the end of the line. And for just a moment, dusted memories of singing together on the drive home were wiped clean, as crisp as autumn air, driving with the windows down.

“...Do you remember the words to all of the songs?” she asked.

“Well, it’s sorta hard not to when you listen to the same three albums almost every day for two years straight,” he teased.

“I don’t think we were doing too hot when we were in high school.”

“Ha, yeah, me either.”

Jean squeezed weakly at the ice pack pressed to his face, feeling the cubes slip around in the freshly-melted water. He swallowed loudly. “I’m sorry, too.”

“Hm? What about?”

“That I just left, in the morning,” he winced, hoping that she would know what he was talking about without having to say it explicitly. “That I didn’t tell you what happened, or talk to you about it at all.”

Mikasa had her head in her palm again, and she bit down lightly on one of the nails, looking thoughtful. After pondering it, she shrugged. “Don’t worry about it. You were Eren’s boyfriend. If I had been the one to wake up first, I would have done the exact same thing to you.”

“Oh,” he blinked. “That does make me feel better, weirdly enough.”

Dwelling on the topic, for some reason, tightened her throat, quickened her pulse, in a nervous way she didn’t fully grasp, and she felt the need to push past it and talk about something else. 

“About Eren… if what you said did have anything to do with me, he’s sensitive about that. About family stuff in general, I guess,” she explained. “You’ve probably noticed it’s something he never wants to talk about.”

Jean didn’t react, aside from listening intently. “Grisha went AWOL the first time around the time that Carla got sick. Eren and I really only had each other then, and it was hard on him. We’ve… been with each other for the worst parts of our lives. It’s not something he likes remembering, or having called into question. And—aside from Armin and I, if you’d count us—he’d really rather have nothing to do with his family because of that. Not with Grisha, obviously. Or with his brother, even when he reaches out sometimes—”

“Wait, wait, Eren has a _brother_?”

“Half-brother. He hasn’t mentioned him, right?”

“...Alright, point taken.”

“Either way,” she sighed. “His fuse is short on that, but he’s not angry at you, even if that tipped him over.”

Jean wanted to ask who he was angry at—but, if Jean’s own bitter self-reflection and inwards frustration with himself were any indicator of how Eren felt, too, then he already had his answer. He was sure he felt as helpless as he did as well—as he pushed him away, with no idea how to stop it. Something occurred to him, and he snapped his head up to look at the girl curiously.

“Say, Mikasa,” he asked, because he realized that he had always _assumed_ , even now, what her goals were and what she wanted with Eren. “What is it that you want?”

A beat, and then, sounding tired, she simply answered, “For Eren to stop crying in my room.”

The edges of his lips curled upwards ever-so-slightly, and he shook his head. “No, I’m serious.”

“So am I,” she insisted earnestly. “I have shit to do.”

Jean almost laughed, but he realized that in some ways, she wasn’t kidding. Even if it wasn’t said outright, she wanted Eren to be happy. She wanted a solution in which they would all be happy. The way she said it suggested that her own happiness need not factor in, but that couldn’t be true, right?

“I’m probably gonna go drive over to Sasha’s for a bit,” she murmured, getting to her feet. She made it halfway to the door, before turning and imploring him, “Keep that iced, yeah?”

“Sure thing,” he nodded numbly. His mind carefully turned over the words she had said, long after she’d left the room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh man... These kiddos are so DRAMATIC!! Well, a couple notes on updates: I really didn't mean to miss April (and May... oop) because I was digging the monthly update! However, I'll probably have a lot more time in June, so I may be able to update more regularly again! These last months have just been A LOT... I wrote most of this from the backseat of a moving car, and I really hope that doesn't show LMAO.
> 
> To anyone who thought we were done snowballing after the erejean scene last chapter... Clearly you don't know me personally. 😔 (I'm so sorry sdksljdk)
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone leaving comments and kudos! Hearing your feedback and knowing that you guys are engaged in the story is why I write this, and your words mean the world to me. ❤️
> 
> I'm @albatrost everywhere! See you next time!


	6. Bruschetta Crostini

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A shocking announcement, a fresh-hatched idea, and a murder most foul.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay!!! I'm back way sooner than I thought I was going to be! I'm hoping I can get another chapter out while it's still June, as well. This chapter is much more plot-heavy than the others thus far, so I guess this is kinda a disclaimer that the amount of plot (and how "dark" the story is) will fluctuate with each chapter. Next chapter... will probably be low on plot and high on fun? But yeah, it'll fluctuate!! (Don't worry, I haven't forgotten that I'm writing a fun band AU... LMAO). Hope you enjoy!

Evening came and went uneventfully for Armin. Reiner gratefully scarfed down a burger while Bertholdt politely picked at his fries, and Armin made pleasant small talk. Reiner could be released as early as tomorrow, the doctors claimed, and the sutures were mending remarkably. Once they had finished their food, he dismissed himself and walked down the hall into a familiar ward—but not before fishing one last bag with a burger and fries from his backpack. 

Something told Armin, as the blonde man shoveled fries down his gullet, that he didn’t favor the hospital food too strongly, either.

Bizarrely enough, he’d received none of the promised blood results that evening—he was updated that the lab had more tests to run, an extra vial or two was extracted, and he was left in the dark once again. A frown tugged at Armin’s lips upon hearing the news, but he swallowed down his urge to question it. There were plenty of reasons the analysis could take a while, after all. Mr. Grice seemed to be in a stabler mindset upon Armin’s return, but he didn’t turn the boy away or hold him in suspicion. If anything, Armin’s presence and comforting words meant more to the man than he had realized.

“I think I figured it out,” he started, and Armin perked up in anticipation. “Who you remind me of, that is. You make me think of my brother’s youngest, Falco. The way you talk.”

The smallest seeds of guilt blossomed in his gut, and in a lot of ways, Armin wished he had originally come here without any ulterior berserk-based motives, just to reassure him. He wanted to ask him where his brother and nephews were, if they even knew he had been hospitalized, but he wasn’t sure it was his place. Either way, Armin could be here for him now—he couldn’t imagine how alone he felt.

They spoke for a couple of hours, and Armin eventually left, intending to come back early the next day. It was later than he had expected when he finally arrived home, shuffling his shoes off in the doorway, but he reckoned he could easily squeeze in some reading prep for summer classes, or at the very least, some coding modifications on his research group’s latest post-processing tools... 

And it was due precisely to this spurt of ambition that Armin ended up scrambling out of his apartment at near-noon the next day, having slept far later than planned.

His slip-up wasn’t too great a cause of concern, he told himself. For all he knew, Mr. Grice was sleeping in and collecting some well-earned rest, and the lab was still analyzing away. It only became a cause for concern when he turned the corner of a familiar corridor—entering from a roundabout way to avoid passing Reiner’s room—and found the room empty. Fresh sheets stacked and neatly creased at the foot of the hospital bed, counters and tables crisp and spotless.

Blinking in surprise, Armin did a double take, checking the room number again. Sure enough, Mr. Grice was gone.

He stumbled back out of the room, glancing around somewhat disoriented—and he tried to tell himself that there really wasn’t a reason to be puzzled—that he’d maybe been released, or his family members had come for him—and he was talking himself down from budding worry when a nurse passed by. He flagged her down.

“Um, excuse me,” he prefaced, approaching her and trying not to look alarmed. “The patient who was in this room yesterday, Grice. Do you know where he is?”

“He was checked out this morning,” she said simply, motioning toward a clipboard on the floor’s front desk.

“By his brother?” Armin inquired hopefully, throat tight.

“Ah, no, I don’t think so.”

“By who?” he asked too quickly, too fervently, and the nurse raised a brow at his insistence.

“I’m sorry, sir,” she started, crossing her arms, and Armin heard the suspicious switch in her tone. “What’s your relationship to the patient?”

The blonde wracked his brain—and he was confident that he had retained enough details about Mr. Grice’s personal life to pull off a friendly relationship, or at the very least, an acquaintance.

“We met in recovery, at the Trost Rehabilitation Center,” he lied, tracing over the printed name on the coin in his memory. “He’s a really good guy, and a great friend, but I’d be worried if he left with someone who wasn’t family, you know?” He put a careful emphasis on the last sentence.

She nodded understandingly, and jerked her head, beckoning him over to the sign-in sheet. Armin relaxed and walked up, glancing at what she gestured toward.

“My shift just started, so I didn’t see anyone. But the only name on the sign-in sheet that corresponds with his check-out time is this one. Is it familiar?”

Her finger hovered above the messy scrawl of ink.

 _K. Ackerman_.

Armin’s eyebrows lifted when he scanned over the last name, but he gave nothing else away. 

“No,” he mumbled, sounding as perplexed as he genuinely was. “It’s not.”

It dawned on him that he could stretch this perceived credibility further, and he embellished his frustration by rounding on her with a disapproving, “Wait, did you all get _his_ relationship to Mr. Grice? Was he just allowed to waltz out of here with him?”

Eyes widening, the nurse stammered, “It wasn’t my shift. If… if he wasn’t of personal relation to the patient, then he must have had clearance of some kind.”

The last comment did startle him… as well as stoke the urgency of the situation. Armin masked his surprise as best he could, releasing a resigned unhappy sigh and bringing up a hand to shadow his eyes. “Alright... Could I ask to see what address he gave you guys? I need to make sure he isn’t getting into trouble.”

“I’m sorry, sir, but I can’t disclose the patient’s personal information.”

“Yeah, no, I understand,” he sighed again—stumped on how he could find him—before something occurred to him.

Reaching for something, anything, he raised a hand to stop her before she could turn. “Out of curiosity, did his bloodwork ever come through? Was it berserk? Please… it’d be great to have _something_ to tell his brother and nephews. They’re all concerned about what happened to him, and where he is now.”

She hesitated, turning the decision over in her mind. However, Armin’s fib worked better than he had bargained, because after a moment she sighed, admitting, “Well… yes and no.”

Armin swallowed, unsettled, and sidled up closer to her when she lowered her voice.

“It was still… berserk, if you could call berserk a class of drugs, because of the remarkable similarities. But… there were also clear differences.” Armin froze, listening closely.

“One of the tent city victims—from what’s classified as the second berserk attack—was brought in here. He ended up dying, and the cause was unclear. While there were dosages of compounds in the berserk he had taken that could very well be lethal, he had also suffered traumatic injuries, in addition to a host of other health problems. Those same compounds appear to only be present in trace amounts in Mr. Grice’s bloodwork.” She crossed her arms and frowned. “I guess that’s the problem with mixed drugs, you get fluctuations. But… even if it’s not the _same_ drug, it looks like berserk, and it seems like berserk isn’t lethal, or at least it’s not supposed to be. We don’t expect lasting effects.”

Armin nodded, thanking her sincerely for what she’d been able to share, and immediately headed for the stairwell—giving himself at least two minutes to devise another story. He thumbed through search results on his phone, scrolling until he reached the number for the rehabilitation center, and tapped it in swiftly. It should have given him pause—this was illegal, after all, and at the very least it deserved a little extra thought—but his alarm fueled him past that. Even if he didn’t know Mr. Grice well, something churned in his stomach, felt wrong. He couldn’t shake the suspicion that those men in suits were directly responsible for his disappearance, and that, as one of the only people who had seen them, he had _some_ responsibility to find him.

“Hello,” he introduced himself—pleading that the staff at a drug therapy center would be more flexible with confidentiality in the face of a proposed possible relapse. He lifted his voice slightly—because from what he gathered, Mr. Grice’s nephew was younger than him—but spoke in the way he always did. Sentimentality always gave more away than a hospital questionnaire, and Mr. Grice had said so himself: it was the way he talked.

“This is Falco Grice, I’m calling about my uncle? None of us have been able to find him or get ahold of him recently, and we’re really worried. Has he changed the address he has on file with you guys? Could you tell me what it is?”

He tapped out the address in his phone’s notes—startled by the ease with which it had been delivered—and finished the call by promising to update them when he was found. He padded quickly down the stairwell, shoved through a fire exit. It was a terrible idea to go—for all he knew, Mr. Grice _was_ in bad company one way or another, and he’d be interrupting them. Yet things had changed, had been broadened by what he had heard—by the men in suits, by whoever the hell K. Ackerman was—and he couldn’t bite down the urge to follow through, the desperation to _know_ swallowing him up.

Pacing to his car, he figured he may as well prod at one of those leads while he could.

His phone rang a couple of times after he had dialed the number, but it was only a handful of seconds until a muffled voice picked up on the other line.

_“...Hello?”_

“Mikasa, hey,” he answered, not realizing until that moment how out of breath he was—whether from a quick pace or panic, he wasn’t sure. “Out of curiosity, do you have any family whose names start with ‘K’? Like a ‘K. Ackerman’? I know that you aren’t really—” he paused his rushed questions when he heard the car engine start on the other end. “...Where are you right now?”

 _“I’m just now leaving Sasha’s.”_ Her voice was still slightly muffled, distant, as if she was balancing her phone in the crook of her shoulder while she fumbled with something else. _“Why, where are you?”_

“I’m leaving the hospital.”

 _“Ah,”_ her voice came back clearer, and it sounded like she had her phone clasped to her cheek again. _“How’s Reiner?”_

“I, uh, I didn’t see Reiner.”

There was a heavy pause on the other end. A moment later her voice came back, tinged with notes of suspicion and worry. _“...What were you trying to ask me, when you first called?”_

“Do… do you know anyone named K. Ackerman? Like the first initial is ‘K’, not the name ‘Kay’. Does it ring a bell? Probably a man, I think?” he proposed the last comment entirely on the assumption that the person he was looking for was one of those suited men—a bold belief, undoubtedly.

 _“No, I don’t think so… If there’s any relation, it’s probably distant,”_ Mikasa murmured thoughtfully. _“Dad didn’t have any brothers or anything… I think I remember a second-cousin on the family tree named Kuchel or something? But she died before I was born.”_ Mikasa paused again before asking, more suspiciously, _“...Armin, what’s going on?”_

He bit his lip. After sharing his barely-founded spitballing with her in the library, he had no doubt she would take him seriously—especially since it now seemed confirmed his fears were more founded than he thought. It was the other part—the illegal impersonation and rushing headfirst into a possible kidnapping on a hunch—that was less likely to fly. But if there was anyone who wouldn’t regard him as crazy after that, wouldn’t it be Mikasa?

“I… I started visiting the man on berserk who bit Reiner.”

If Mikasa bristled at the news on the other end of the line, she said nothing to show it. He continued, “He’s… a really nice guy, actually, but—but the weird part is, he didn’t take any berserk, or he doesn’t remember taking any. And when I first went to see him, these three men in suits showed up. They claimed to be insurance agents hired by his parents, but his parents are dead. Apparently all they did was collect some information on him, but… I came in this morning to see him, and he’s gone. The person who checked him out signed his name ‘K. Ackerman’... the nurse said that he must have had clearance of some kind to pull him out like that.”

Armin took a break to suck in a breath. “I… I found his address, and I’m going to check up on him. I know it sounds ridiculous, but… but these guys were lying for a reason, and I just have a _bad_ feeling about this. I think they took him, I just don’t know why.”

 _“Armin…”_ she started, sounding perplexed. _“What, are you saying that… that these guys drugged him? And now they’re kidnapping him for some reason?”_

“I mean, I don’t know, but it’s weird, right?” he pleaded.

 _“It is weird,”_ she admitted, but still sounded skeptical. _“...But it’s also a lot to bet on a gut feeling. And what’re you even gonna do if you’re right? Are you going to his house knowing that those people might be there?”_

“Mikasa…” he started, but failed to finish, because she was right—despite how clearly the evidence stacked up from his vantage point, it may very well be non sequitur from any other perspective. It _was_ a lot to risk on a gut feeling, and he hadn’t thought ahead to what he’d do after his discovery—

_“Send me the address.”_

“...What?” he blinked.

 _“If you’re going anyways—and I doubt I’ll talk you out of it—then I’m coming, too.”_ Her voice was even, difficult to read. _“If it’s anything like what you’re saying, it’s dangerous to go alone. If it isn’t, then… I don’t know, we’ll see your friend and go for ice cream.”_

It was something he should have dissuaded her from. Even if he was rooting around in possible druggings and kidnappings, he didn’t have to drag Mikasa into it. Nevertheless, if he had learned anything about his friend over the years… it was that she had never been easy to bargain with.

  


* * *

Gravel crunched under the wheel of the car as it slowed smoothly to a stop. Mikasa swiveled her head, black hair swishing, and locked eyes with the driver of the adjacent vehicle. Though she wasn’t sure how long he’d been waiting for her in the parking lot, she was grateful he had. Tugging on the parking brake, she scanned the premises. From what she could see of the apartment complex’s lot, it was barren—populated sparsely only by cars, gleaming in the afternoon sun. Squinting, she honed in on the apartment complex next. Although it was hard to make out, especially in the flickering heat of muggy summer air, she thought she could see his apartment number.

The loud thwack of a car door being shut startled her, and she killed the engine, stepping out to follow Armin. He was pursing his lips, looking dissatisfied as he trained his eyes on the same doorway she’d been looking at.

“Did you see anyone go in or out?” she prefaced, looking at him steadily and then back to the door.

“Mm, no,” he shook his head. “I didn’t beat you here by much, I’ve only been here a couple minutes.”

Pensively, she stared at the door a little longer, before sighing. “Well, let’s go. Time’s of the essence, right?”

Armin nodded, and the two made their way to the staircase. Peeling paint grazed against Armin’s fingers as they skirted over the railing, keeping a loose grip, and he plodded up the stairs after her. The complex itself was fairly small—only two stories, worn brick and brickle wood. His apartment was on the second story, toward the middle of the corridor and overlooking the lot—surely, if anyone had recently visited or fled, it would be in plan view. It was for this same reason that Mikasa whipped her head to glance over her shoulder, training her gaze on the lot before them. Every car still empty, no witnesses.

They stalled before the door, and Armin reached out to knock—however, the second his knuckles rapped on the wood, it creaked ajar. The door had been left cracked. As if someone had left in haste.

The two exchanged a glance, and Armin tentatively pressed his fingertips to the door, opening it further. All at once, a blast of hot air hit them—foul, rancid air.

Armin slapped a hand over his mouth and reeled back. He peered to the side at Mikasa as her eyes widened, and she took a full step back. 

“God, what the hell?” he complained to himself, voice smothered by his hand, and he took a step forward—before Mikasa’s hand curled hard over his bicep, panic in her eyes.

“Armin, we need to go.”

“I need to see—”

“We need to _go_.”

His stomach dropped just looking at the dead seriousness in her eyes—had plummeted and twisted queasily the moment he had swallowed down that putrid air—but he still curled his own fingers over hers and gently pried her hand off of his arm. “We will. We will, in just a second—”

Mikasa opened her mouth to stop him, and anxiety thrilled through his gut—plucked at the hairs on the back of his neck, gnawed him to the bone—but he was already pushing past the doorway. 

It was dark in the apartment with the blinds shut, and only the light spilling through the doorway brightened the living room. Yet even though it was obscured by the dark, dipped in shadow—even though it was hard to make little else out—the dark shape he saw was unmistakable. He skidded to a stop, his own gunfire pulse deafening in his ears. A crumpled, limp body, in the center of the floor.

“Mr. Grice…?” Armin started, feet drifting into the room on their own accord, and Mikasa was quick to follow him.

His eyes adjusted to the dark as he eased further into the room, and the body became clearer at the edges—twisted legs, one hand curled over the stomach—the other hand loosely clutching a transparent orange bottle, a couple white pills spilling onto the carpet, gleaming in the dark. A familiar face, nearly as white as the pills, smeared with vomit.

“ _Jesus Christ_ ,” Armin barely gasped out, throat squeezed tight, and he dropped to his knees.

Mikasa strayed further into the room, keeping a careful watch on the door behind them, but she spared a glance at Armin. The boy was frozen on the carpet, shell-shocked—almost as pale as the corpse itself—a hand covering his mouth, eyes eerily wide. He didn’t move for an entire minute—deep in thought or in shock, she couldn’t tell. The disturbing scene warranted comfort, clearly… but she still wasn’t close enough to tell what had happened, and getting Armin out of the apartment was still her priority. She was trying to figure out her next move when he broke the silence. The blonde sucked in a loud, shaky breath of the thick, hot, pungent air.

“I… I don’t understand,” his wide eyes kept flickering between the empty bottle and the pool of vomit. His voice trembled. “He was in recovery… I don’t get it… He shouldn’t even _have_ those pills, and I don’t know why he would take them—he was in _recovery_ , I—”

Once she put two-and-two together—once she was close enough to see him—Mikasa’s shoulders visibly relaxed. It was horrific, but it wasn’t a reason to keep glancing over her shoulder. Even if a possible relapse was what Armin had used to persuade the rehabilitation center to give him his address, the validity of that concern had never even crossed his mind. Mikasa walked closer, settled a hand on his shoulder.

“Relapses happen all the time, Armin… Even to people who want to get better.”

“But… it doesn’t make _sense_ , he didn’t just take a few, he—”

She could feel how badly he wanted to believe otherwise, but she bit down a sigh and closed her eyes. “Nobody ever means to overdose… I’m sure the berserk incident put him under a lot of stress. It isn’t easy to cope with.”

 _It’s had an effect on me_ , she thought to herself bitterly, _and I wasn’t even the one turned into a monster_.

“...But he didn’t overdose.”

The certainty in Armin’s voice startled her, and she peered down at him. Something had changed, based on his dire stare. The hairs on the back of her neck rose as he calmly said, “Look.”

She turned a doubtful eye to where he pointed… and when she saw it, despite the heat of the room, a chill shuddered through her, as if someone had slowly trickled ice water down her spine.

“He didn’t have those in the hospital,” Armin murmured.

Bruises, soft aubergine blotches in the shape of fingerprints, blotted across his jaw and neck. As if someone had been holding his jaw open.

Mikasa’s blood ran cold, and she snapped her head back toward the door. Her skin was back to crawling, fear welling up inside her gut.

“It’s… it’s staged.” He leaned back unsteadily onto his heels, wiping a glistening bead of sweat from his brow. The scene would look easily like a suicide or overdose to an outsider—especially with his record—and warranted little investigation. Killing him with the same noose he’d been shaking off of his neck for years. Years of wrestling with a ghost, ripping it loose finally, _finally_ —only to have it shoved back down his gullet, disgracing him one last time in death. And it made Armin sick—though maybe that was just the stench, or the wet heat of the room—and it was hard to think with the sheen of sweat sticking to his skin, and the warm dizziness in his head—and he reeled back when he felt bile welling in his mouth, stumbling to his feet and stepping back from the reeking, vomit-soaked body.

“ _Christ_ , why is it so hot in here?” he hissed, reaching up to dab another bead of sweat away and swallowing down his nausea. “Did they turn off the air?”

Mikasa, despite the hardened crease in her brow and the nervous thrum in her pulse, risked wandering away from Armin to look at the AC unit stationed under the window. She gulped and shook her head. 

“No. They turned _on_ the heat,” she frowned. 

Something seemed to occur to him, and he glanced back at Mr. Grice’s sprawled body. “...The faster he rots, the sooner those bruises are gone.”

He realized then that those soft contusions were the only thing belying their overdose set-up. He turned back to her. “We—we need to call it in. If we wait until the police find him, then it’ll work out exactly like they want, and they’ll get away with—”

“No. We can’t.”

“What?” he frowned at her easy refusal, but didn’t raise his voice as he asked, “Why not?”

“Think about it, Armin,” she placed a hand over his shoulder again. “What reason do you have to be here? They’re going to interrogate you if you found the body—how do you know him?”

His eyes drifted away from her intense gaze and down toward Mr. Grice’s empty, empty expression, wracking his brain and feeling dizzier than before. “There’s… nothing wrong with the truth, is there? That I met him at the hospital—”

“No, you sought him out at the hospital because he _attacked_ your _friend_ … Even if you were only curious about the berserk, knowing about the attack on Reiner is still your motive,” she stated, more grave than he had ever seen her. “He checks out, you find his address and go to his home, and he winds up dead. How does that look?”

Even as he met her wide-eyed and dire stare, he mustered up one last weak protest. “I mean, I maybe could get around it, if I told them—”

“It doesn’t matter,” she emphasized each word carefully, brows tilted in concern, as if pleading for him to understand. “It won’t matter to them.”

“No… no, shit, you’re right. I know how it looks,” he admitted tersely, reaching up to rub at his eye. Mikasa took his other hand and tugged softly—clearly even more anxious to leave than he was—but he stopped her once they were outside, the moment cool, fresh air washed over them.

“Do you have any tissues in your purse?” he proposed, voice still somewhat shaken. “For the fingerprints, on the door.”

She nodded, rummaging around in the bag for only a second before plucking out a plastic pack of tissues. She drew one out for Armin, and watched him sweep it over the wide swath of wood he may have touched when he pushed the door open. Afterwards, he folded and tucked the tissue neatly into his back pocket. 

They stared out over the parking lot again, but it appeared that nothing had changed—at first glance, the same scant number of cars still scattered the baking asphalt, and no one was out and about. They hadn’t been seen, coming in or out.

“Is… is there no way I could call anonymously?” he tried again as they paced down the stairs. “From a burner phone, or something.”

She looked up at him slowly, but didn’t shoot down the idea. Evidently, this meant even more to him than she had realized. “And say what?”

“I could pretend to be a neighbor. Say that there’s a funny smell coming through the vents, or that I heard a struggle, or something. Say something that makes the police come sooner.”

“...If you can sell it, I don’t see why not,” she agreed, turning the corner as they both headed out onto the empty lot. “Just… be careful.”

The words had more weight now, especially after what they had just seen. And though it encumbered both of them, a queasily-swaying anchor now tethered to their minds, pulling them under, it wasn’t something they could risk sticking around to talk about.

“I’ll call you,” she nodded once, shutting her car door, and the two drove their separate ways.

  


* * *

“ _Hell_ yeah,” Ymir groaned around a mouthful of crostini and olive tapenade, before shoveling even more into her mouth. “Oh, hell fuckin’ yeah.”

Historia lifted a hand to politely cover a smile as Ymir chewed as obnoxiously as possible, drawing disdainful looks from the other partygoers. Ymir, meanwhile, was in a paradise all her own.

There was some marinade that the roasted olives must have been soaked in, she decided once she had swallowed, popping a finger in her mouth and sucking it clean—but she couldn’t tell what it was, and before she knew it, she was out of fingers to clean anyways. The train of thought veered right out of her mind the moment she and Historia spotted the next server with a silver platter.

If it wasn’t for the chipmunk cheeks and messy fingers as Ymir grazed through the crowd, Historia thought, she actually looked rather dashing. Mikasa’s straight-leg slacks fit perfectly, the black fabric wrapping tastefully about her hips and thighs, tapering out in a way that seemed to embellish each step she took—legs for days. Her deep burgundy sleeveless blouse tucked neatly into the waist. She had taken the liberty of borrowing Mikasa’s blazer as well—because surely she wouldn’t miss it for the night—and had draped it over her shoulders, since it was hotter in the venue than they had anticipated. And while it should have looked ridiculous, it granted some debonair flourish to all of her movements. Her deep brown hair was tied at the nape of her neck, and her bangs were slicked back out of her face—probably for the best, Historia figured, since it wouldn’t be great if they were mingling with the bruschetta making a beeline toward her face. She raked her eyes over her again, wishing they’d gone to formal events like this sooner, and wondering if Mikasa wouldn’t loan those slacks out a little longer—

“Stop looking at my ass, you useless lesbian,” Ymir teased, pausing before her bite and smiling knowingly. “We’re on a mission, right?” 

Heat rose to Historia’s cheeks, but she still laughed, “Yeah, alright, spotted any dastardly villains plotting against my dad that we should schmooze with?”

The blonde already knew her answer, judging by how heavily Ymir was making eye contact with the oil-brushed baguette slice in her hand—piled high with brightly glistening cherry tomatoes and chiffonade ribbons of fresh basil—and she lifted her eyebrows facetiously as Ymir couldn’t resist another bite.

“Okay, sorry,” she admitted sheepishly after she was done chewing. “I came into this knowing that we were trying to talk to people, but once we were in the room I kinda forgot I wasn’t here to eat.”

“Well, we’re here for that, too,” she smiled, nodding her head in the direction of the closest server, as if goading Ymir on. “Why not take advantage of it?”

They approached the next platter—Historia pacing a little quicker than normal, because short legs aside, her form-fitting knee-length black dress tampered her speed more than she expected. Although her hair was pulled back, some curled strands still hung loose around her cheeks, and she brushed them to the side before popping a cheese-stuffed, prosciutto-wrapped fig in her mouth. Ymir all but karate-chopped the platter, sliding a hefty portion into her waiting, open palm.

“This really isn’t on me,” she shrugged, mumbling with her mouth full. “You know I’m a slut for appetizers… A whore d'oeuvres, if you will,” she finished, waggling her eyebrows, and Historia snorted out loud.

The two laughed as they snacked, but still periodically scanned the room, trying to maintain some focus. The platters of champagne flutes made that increasingly more difficult, as it turned out. Socializing was more difficult than they had anticipated, too. Most of the discussions were relatively mundane, just old work friends having a chat. Every once in a while, they snagged onto a word of interest or a tone that seemed uneasy, but the people stopped talking once the noticeable couple were in eavesdropping distance. All in all, the dinner wasn’t nearly as fruitfully suspicious as they’d expected.

“Mm, I haven’t even seen my dad,” the blonde murmured at one point. “Isn’t he supposed to be walking around and talking with these people? That kinda seems like the point.”

“Yeah, it does,” Ymir slung an arm around her shoulder and squinted almost comically at the crowd—likely a little more buzzed than Historia had even realized. “Could be practicing for his big speech, maybe.”

Ymir picked up yet another appetizer—a puff pastry canapé filled with soft whipped cheese, a dollop of onion jam spooned over it, and a thin slice of baked pear adorning the top—and her eyes widened. “Yo, Historia, get one of these—I bet you _ten_ _whole_ dollars this is the best one yet.”

“As opposed to half dollars? And you’ve said that about the last five we’ve eaten,” Historia raised her eyebrows, amused, but she plucked one from the plate anyways. They tapped them together, in the spirit of a quick cheers, and ate them in one bite. And the moment her teeth snapped the delicate, crisp pastry and sunk into the soft cheese, she knew Ymir was right.

“Holy shit,” she chuckled, cheeks stuffed. “Oh my god, this really is the best one.”

“Right?!” Ymir snickered back with her mouth full, looking positively gleeful. “Called it!”

“Tori? Ymir?”

The two girls froze at the familiar voice—one they couldn’t quite place—and slowly glanced over their shoulders, cheeks still puffed out with cheese. The face was a familiar one, too, and they swallowed hard in near-unison.

“Ms. Braun?” Historia blinked in shock, a surprised smile stretching over her features.

“Oh, I thought it was you two!” she beamed, opening her arms invitingly. Historia was quick to take her up on it, leaning in for a quick hug, and Ymir followed suit shortly afterwards.

“You all haven’t changed a bit,” she reminisced warmly. The short woman took a moment to appraise Historia’s strapless dress, and teased, “Still a little heartbreaker, aren’t you! Reiner was just head-over-heels… I still keep your prom photos on the fridge.”

Ymir and Historia stared blankly in confusion for a second. Historia was the first to remember her and Reiner’s prom arrangement—for their parents’ sakes rather than their peers’ (who were hardly fooled), both the star quarterback and the head cheerleader decided to be each other’s beards for prom. They had also won prom king and queen that same night—even if they had both spent their evenings with someone else. From what his mother said, it became glaringly obvious that he had never told her otherwise, and was still fully oblivious that her son was a Kinsey six.

“Uh, yeah, haha, yeah he was,” she grinned and brought a hand up to the back of her neck. She hoped that her stumbling over her words could be attributed to being bashful, rather than caught off guard. She gently elbowed Ymir, who caught on quickly.

All three of them reflected happily on high school memories—with both Ymir and Historia pretending pointedly that Reiner was as straight as they come—and moved into discussing how things had been recently. When she turned expectantly to Ymir, still one of Reiner’s closest friends, to ask about how their band was going, it stirred up memories of more recent events.

“It’s still terrible what happened to Reiner, by the way,” Ymir offered sympathetically. “How’s he doing? Better than the last time I talked to him, I hope.”

“Well… I actually wouldn’t know,” she admitted somewhat guiltily, quietly. “I haven’t seen him yet.”

When the two girls just gave her a puzzled look, she elaborated, “I just got off the plane this afternoon… I was on a business trip for the company,” she gestured vaguely at the room, “and well, the policy isn’t exactly forgiving. I couldn’t leave early, even after he’d told me.”

“Oh… I’m so sorry,” Historia looked at her sympathetically, blue eyes wide and lips twisted in a frown. She couldn’t imagine how it must pain the woman to hear something so devastating about her child and be helpless to do anything, but Ms. Braun waved her hand dismissively, before she could look any more upset.

“Really, Tori, it’s alright,” she smiled sadly. “Things are just pretty hectic with work right now. I’m sure it’ll die down soon… and I hear Reiner could be discharged soon anyways, right?”

She looked to Ymir for confirmation, and sighed in relief when the brunette nodded.

“I never realized you worked at Reiss Pharmaceuticals,” Historia opened, hoping for a less bleak change of subject.

“Ah, yeah, for the past six or seven years, I suppose,” she smiled. “I didn’t expect to see either of you here! Are you interning for the summer?”

“Oh, no, my dad invited me,” she clarified with a smile.

Reiner’s mother raised her brows in surprise, but smiled goodnaturedly as she glanced around the room. “I didn’t realize Alma had married. Who—”

“Oh, no,” Historia tried to rectify the misunderstanding. “My _dad_.” She gestured weakly toward the stage.

“Historia… Reiss. Oh,” Karina Braun slowly put two and two together. As the gears turned slowly in her head, her face drained of color.

“Um, Ms. Braun? Are you alright?” Ymir asked, once she was about the same shade as the table cloths. 

The woman shook her head as if to clear it, spared an almost fearful glance at Historia, and forced a smile. “Sorry girls, I think I need to sit down for a bit… If you’ll excuse me.”

She made her way slowly over the seating tables closer to the stage, away from the mingling area. The two girls stared after her in confusion.

“Is it just me… or is that kind of an extreme reaction to learning that your boss had an affair?” Historia crossed her arms, one brow quirked up in concern.

“I mean, Karina’s kinda old-fashioned,” Ymir bit her lip, narrowing her eyes. “...But yeah, that was pretty fucking weird.”

“Do you think she knows something—?”

The loud tap of a finger against a microphone echoed throughout the hall, and Ymir and Historia turned their heads with the rest of the audience to face the stage.

“Good evening, everyone,” the speaker warmly welcomed the guests, blue eyes sparkling and smile flashing bright. She smoothed her hands over the front of her pristine white cocktail dress, a few strands of long black hair falling over the square neckline, and waited for the last of the chatter to die down before continuing, as charismatically as possible, “We hope that you’re all enjoying the refreshments! We’d like to invite you at this time to take your seats, and we’ll be opening with a very important announcement shortly. Thank you all again for attending, and for all of your hard work throughout the year.”

She left the stage, clacking away smoothly on white heels, and Ymir and Historia were swept up in the waves of people migrating toward the tables nearest the stage.

“Well, Frieda’s still as ‘Frieda’ as ever,” Ymir commented, crossing her arms skeptically, but refrained from saying more for Historia’s sake. “Do you know where we’re sitting?”

“Our table is supposed to be in the front row, near the stage entrance,” she offered. “We should have seating cards.”

As they streamed in between the tables and made their way toward the stage, they passed briefly by Reiner’s mother’s table. She chatted with a man who looked somewhat despondent, never lifting his eyes from the tablecloth. When Tori and Ymir passed by, she stopped to look up and send them a tense smile. Historia returned it, but Ymir’s eyes were skimming across the tabletop. The ‘Karina Braun’ placard was expected, but the last name on the adjacent one wasn’t. Leonhardt.

“Like… Leonhardt as in Annie?” Ymir asked Historia, mentioning the seating card once they were far enough out of earshot.

“Hm? I don’t know. Why do you think that?”

“I don’t, but… Reiner never told me how he met Annie, since she didn’t go to high school with us. I guess it would make sense if their parents were work friends, and they met that way?”

Historia gave a disinterested hum of acknowledgement—even if she was listening to Ymir, she was scanning over tabletops as well, hoping to find their seats.

They eventually found them, and several minutes passed in which the room as a whole settled down, idle chatter tapering off into expectant quiet. It was only once Rod Reiss himself walked out onto the stage that the room erupted with sound again. Ymir and Historia were the only ones to hold their applause. Once the clapping had quieted, the man grasped the microphone on the stage.

“Thank you, all of you, for coming tonight, and for everything you’ve helped the company achieve this year,” he began, pausing for some more scattered applause. “We have a lot to celebrate, and a lot to look forward to, without a doubt. Before we get to the commencement speech, however, I have a very important announcement to share with all of you, and someone very important to introduce to you. This has weighed heavily on my mind for some time, but I’ve decided that, without a doubt, this is the best decision for everyone in the company going forward.”

His eyes locked with Historia’s—honing in on her instantly, despite the expanse of people in the room—and she jumped in surprise. “If you will,” he spoke, quieter but still into the microphone, and reached a hand out to beckon her onto the stage.

She exchanged an uneasy glance with Ymir, who squeezed her hand, before rising to her feet and walking unsteadily toward the stage entrance. Even though she knew he would ask her to the stage—even though he had asked as much—she still couldn’t explain the lightness in her head and leaden weight in her step as she trudged forward. Her body felt like it was moving through the motions of its own accord as she turned the corner. Distantly, she could hear that her father was still talking, but it was drowned out by the nervous rush of blood in her ears. A man in a suit with slicked-back, shoulder-length brown hair gave her a curious look—he was security, she supposed—before stepping aside and ushering her onto the stage. It was all she could do, on her weak legs, to drag her feet forward.

She was backstage, obscured by the wall and looking out at the brilliantly illuminated stage before her. The corridor felt miles long, but it was a straight shot, nearly abandoned—except for one person. The relief she felt at seeing her smothered her anxiety, if only for a moment. And surely she had time for a quick word before she needed to walk onto the stage, she thought as she approached her.

“Frieda—”

A hand shot out and caught her by the bicep, clenching hard. Air spiralled out of her lungs, and the blonde looked up at her half-sister in confusion. The intensity of the gaze she met was sobering. Dark, thick brows drawn in fear and uncertainty, voice stern.

“You shouldn’t have come.”

Historia froze, turning the words over in her mind, but she hardly had time to think about it before Frieda snuck a glance over her shoulder—locking eyes with the father, no doubt. Before she knew it, Frieda’s hand was pressed firmly to the small of her back, guiding her out onto the stage.

The blaring spotlights blinded her the moment they walked out of shadow—and the whole room looked much darker than she had thought, now that she was bathed in light. It took a couple seconds of blinking to adjust to the brilliance, and once she had, she took the first chance she could to steal a peek at Frieda. 

Whatever ominous expression she’d worn earlier, it had vanished, and she had adorned that exuberant, crowd-pleasing grin once again.

It was only when she was directly beside her father that Frieda’s escort ended. The man turned toward her, and dread curdled in her gut—because she couldn’t remember the last time he’d been this near to her, but if the nostalgic childhood fear plucking at her nerves told her anything, it hadn’t been good. Before she could lift a finger, he stepped forward and took her into a hug.

It wasn’t a deeply sentimental embrace—the type appropriate for a formal dinner, a respectable yet heartfelt greeting between two old friends. Yet he was still _hugging_ her—before an entire arena of spectators, nevertheless.

She stayed still after he ended the brief hug—how stiff and unnatural she looked, she couldn’t imagine—and watched as he reached for the microphone. “I’m happy to introduce my daughter, Historia Reiss.”

The hall clapped—less animatedly than they had for Rod, muted by confusion. And while some members there had no knowledge of the man’s personal life and no reason to think anything was awry, there were just as many who whispered among themselves, speculating on her age and where exactly Rod had plucked another daughter from.

She tried to force a smile as best she could—something that wasn’t difficult from habit alone—and stared out over the vast sea of faces as her father talked. Her heartbeat was still loud in her ears, battering away his voice with each pulse, and she had barely caught a word he’d said since, until—

“—which is why, after much deliberation, we’ve decided that no one is more competent than her to lead the research and medical testing branch.”

She whipped her head back in his direction, not even attempting to cover her shock. He smiled at her, wearing the guise of any proud father. When she turned her head back to glance at Frieda, a couple of paces behind them, she was clapping with the rest of the crowd, that pleased and placid exterior immovable.

“If she’ll accept, of course, that is,” he offered—and she tried to remember that this was still a choice.

Her mind was whirling—because this wasn’t just publicity he was presenting to her, it was control, _power_ —and why on earth would he ever instill that in her? Frieda had been in charge of medical testing for the longest time—so she would be assuming some of Frieda’s responsibilities that were cut as well. Was he betting on the pressure of the crowd to suade her into accepting? Was he hoping the opportunity itself would surpass her reasons to be suspicious, and she couldn’t resist? Why was this something he wanted to begin with? It was so nonsensical—so positively _antithetical_ to who he was—that even if she knew it was playing into his hands, she caught herself longing to accept, if only to discover why. To wrap her head around this unfathomable idea. And if she was still right—if this admission still meant that he was in deep shit—then would she be able to use this power to her own advantage, regardless of what he had planned?

Either way, if she didn’t agree now, then she’d never have the chance to know.

“Of course,” she answered, splitting into a believable grin and staring at her father as gratefully as she could stomach.

Her smile only faltered once, when she skimmed over the crowd, and met Ymir’s concerned eyes.

  


* * *

“You’re home alright?” Mikasa cupped her cell phone to her ear, sprawled out on her comforter. Her other hand threaded through Eren’s long dark hair, root to tip, his head resting heavy on her stomach. “Nobody… followed you, or anything?”

It was something that felt almost laughable to ask, but, gut-churningly enough, it was a valid concern now, wasn’t it?

“ _No_ ,” Armin answered on the other line. “ _I’m good, I promise_.”

Mikasa let out a soft sigh. “Are you… are you alright, Armin?” It was clear that she wasn’t just referring to physical wellbeing, anymore.

When there was hesitation on the other line, she added, “I’ve got Eren over here. I can send him your way, if you want—”

He breathed out a laugh. “ _I’ll be alright, Mikasa, really. I appreciate it, though_.”

The black-haired girl was silent, trying to think of something to say—if there was anything to say—when Armin followed up, “ _It’s just… been a whirlwind, these past couple days. I think I probably just need some sleep._ ”

Nothing Armin said suggested that this rest would be hard-won, but if her own dreams the night before last were any indicator, it may not come so easy.

“Eren keeps his melatonin in the leftmost bathroom drawer, if you need it.”

“ _Thank you, Mikasa_.”

She smiled softly at the warmth in his voice. “Night, Armin.”

“ _Night_.”

She ended the call and lowered her phone down onto the bed. Even though her gaze was trained steadily on the ceiling, she could feel Eren’s head roll to face her. All he knew was what he had overheard—Mikasa had come in only moments earlier, saying she needed to call Armin immediately, and had told him nothing else.

“...Are _you_ alright, Mikasa?” he probed tentatively, dark brows scrunched in concern. “What happened? I mean… do you wanna talk about it?”

She stewed on what to say for a couple of minutes, blinking at the smooth white ceiling in silence. When she finally spoke, it was clear that the rumination had been fairly fruitless.

“Armin and I saw a dead guy today.”

“What?” Eren sat up on his elbows, leaning off of her to better angle his head. She hadn’t looked away from the ceiling. “Like a crime scene, or uh… like The Sixth Sense?”

“Like a crime scene, pre-crime-scene-tape. Cops weren’t there, it was just… us and a dead body.”

“What the fuck?” Eren lurched fully upright this time. “Like you _found_ a body? Jesus _Christ_ , ‘Kasa… Did you call the police? How did it happen?”

Her dark eyes fluttered shut, and she bit her lip pensively. She wasn’t certain exactly what Armin would want her to disclose, and in some ways, it wasn’t safe for too much to get around—but surely he wouldn’t keep Eren out of the loop.

“Armin… has been looking into the berserk incidents for a while, because he noticed things seemed off about the reports. He was suspicious about it. When he was at the hospital with Reiner, he ended up going and talking to one of the berserk users from the Expedition.” She sighed and furrowed her brows. “I’m not sure exactly how much to believe, because the guy clearly had some drug problems, but… but he kept denying ever taking anything. Saying that he was drugged, or something. It seems like someone wanted to stop him from saying _something_ , because he was discharged this morning, and when Armin and I went to check up, he was dead. Killed.”

“Mikasa, this is—”

“Armin left an anonymous tip of some kind,” she cut off his frantic outburst, hoping to finish answering his questions and assuage his fears. “So, hopefully the police figure this out. No one was there when Armin and I came and left, so I think we’re safe.”

“So… the person or people who did this,” Eren started carefully, deep green eyes saucer-wide. “They were the drug dealers? Like, berserk dealers?”

It was a loaded clarification, she realized, whether or not he meant it that way. They only knew one accused berserk dealer, after all.

“No idea,” she sighed. “No idea at all… I didn’t even see them. Apparently one of them was a ‘K. Ackerman’, though.”

Shading her eyes with a hand, she shook her head slowly. “I don’t know… I keep trying to tell myself that there are other reasons. That Armin’s theories just got in my head. Like, maybe he owed someone money or pills, and they checked him out and did away with him. But why would a junkie take the time to kill him that way, or frame his death like a suicide? Or he got into some kind of strangulation fight before he took the pills… It doesn’t seem plausible, though. I mean, it makes sense, right?”

“I, uh, I don’t know,” Eren admitted sheepishly. Having not witnessed the scene himself, he wasn’t sure exactly what strangulation and suicide had to do with anything, and was scrambling to keep up—but if he trusted anyone’s diagnosis and gut feelings, it would be those two. “I believe you, though.”

She reached down and wordlessly gripped his hand, squeezing tight. Slowly she confessed, “I feel like I should be more shaken up about it, still. But I guess I didn’t know him, like Armin did.”

Eren squeezed back sympathetically. And for Mikasa, it was more than enough. The two fell into a comfortable quiet, until they both got up to prepare for bed. Lighter subjects flitted between them as they brushed their teeth and changed their clothes—how Sasha was doing, when Ymir and Tori were supposed to be back from the dinner, if Jean’s jaw was doing better. Eren donned a bizarre combination of embarrassed and relieved when he learned that Mikasa had gone and talked to him, but he commented on that possibly being the reason that Jean had finally left his room, in better spirits.

Freshly remembered, the topic hung over them again like a smog, even after they slipped beneath the covers. All three of them knew, surely, that things couldn’t—or shouldn’t—carry on like this forever. They had limited time in which to sculpt a solution. And the one ultimately responsible for doing so, for making a decision that didn’t hurt any of them, seemed to be Eren. She took in his thoughtful expression, lounging on her side and propping her head up on her hand. She knew he was probably thinking the same.

When Eren finally spoke, after a several moments of laying on his back and tapping his fingers together, he softly asked, “...Would you date Jean?”

Mikasa sighed. “Yes, Eren… I’ve already told you a million times, he’s good for you, and if he’ll make you happy—”

“I don’t mean if you were me,” he met her eyes, and something stirred beneath the surface, some shapeless, budding idea. “I mean you, personally, would _you_ date Jean?”

Mikasa glanced at him quizzically, wondering if, in their current situation—which seemed to be a fairly mild game of Eren-tug-of-war—there was even a point to entertaining the question. “I, uh, I don’t really think that’s the issue on the table here, Eren.”

And some realization had definitely dawned on him, as he rolled up onto his elbow to mirror her—some lightbulb so bright it shattered, as if the idea struck him all at once.

“But what if it is?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Ngl, it's so fun writing brilliant lil' detective babies Armin and Mikasa (and trying to determine which things would occur to which of them first, based on what they're more likely to focus on). And Eren's finally had An Idea... *side eyes emoji*
> 
> Thank you so much to everyone who follows this story!!! Hearing your comments and knowing that people actually read this is what makes me so excited to keep writing, and I really can't say how much it means to me. Seriously, y'all have no idea.❤️
> 
> I'm @albatrost everywhere! See ya! xo


	7. Orange Juice

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “...I’ve had the misfortune of knowing all of you for almost a decade, and I’m one hundred percent sure this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Seven's a lucky number. 👀
> 
> Disclaimer: Please, for the love of god, have protected sex. I am begging.

“Well… it isn’t the worst idea you’ve ever had,” Mikasa offered sympathetically, arms crossed, as Eren waited expectantly for her answer.

Eren released an exasperated sigh, looking at her almost pleadingly. “We both know that that bar is so low it’s literally on the floor, Mikasa.”

“Yeah… yeah, it is.”

“So, what do you think?” he proposed again. “Better than the worst is… still a wide range, after all.”

“...Gotta admit, when I said yes, I thought you had a plan that made more sense than this,” she confessed, and he shrugged in agreement. “Remind me again why we’re not just sitting Jean down at the coffee table and talking to him?”

They kept their voices low, barely above a whisper, as they stood outside of Jean’s bedroom door at 9:12 AM. If the light snoring inside was any indicator, the man in question was still sleeping, after all.

“You know Jean, he overthinks everything,” Eren gestured vaguely. “It makes more sense to just… show him that it works. Or… show him that it doesn’t work, you know?”

Mikasa just pursed her lips, and Eren took that as encouragement to keep talking.

“I mean, we could think about it as a test of chemistry, to be fair,” he offered. “People... feel a lot of things that you can’t just put into words. There’s stuff that all three of us can’t predict and solve by thinking about it over a cup of coffee, you know? What we talk about and what happens might be two completely different things.”

“I want to say you’re making a good point,” Mikasa admitted; her arms were still crossed, but she looked more convinced than skeptical.

“Look, for example—maybe one of us kisses Jean, and the other one of us realizes they can’t stand to see it, but everyone’s already agreed to this.”

“I see you kiss Jean all the time, Eren.”

“Okay, bad example—maybe Jean _doesn’t_ want to watch me dick you down,” Eren suggested… before thinking back on his and Jean’s conversation the day after the show, and lifting a hand to smother his laugh. “Even though, _pfft_ —even though he totally does.”

Mikasa raised her brows in surprise, but remained quiet.

“But… it’s not like we can actually know until it’s happening, right?”

“...That’s fair,” she caved. As hesitant as she’d been to acknowledge it, Eren’s explanation made sense to her, at least for the time being. And wasn’t it better to air everything in the open and discover these problems immediately—even if the outcome was one of the most awkward in their friend group’s entire history—than sit through thoughtful formalities and then encounter them later, when things were much more complicated? This thought was enough to cast her reservations aside, with less difficulty than she’d been prepared. Things were confusing and unstable already, and if this was a meager chance at a solution… she figured the worst possible outcome probably couldn’t make things much worse.

“Okay,” she sighed, propping her hands on her hips and feeling surprisingly at ease. “Plan ‘spring Jean’ it is. But you’re the one who has to propose it to him. If his heart goes out and he straight up dies, that’s on you.”

“Sounds fair,” Eren smiled, and reached for the doorknob.

  


* * *

_“Would you date Jean?”_

The words had been bouncing around her skull ever since Eren had brought it up—and the words became harder to snag onto and mull over and truly think about, especially while Eren kept talking.

“I… don’t want you to say yes just because you think I want you to say yes, you know?” was the first thing out of his mouth. “I just wanna know what you think. And I know it’s asking a lot to even just… ask you to hear me out, because it sounds weird—but it makes sense, right?”

“Does it now,” she answered, more of a statement than a question. Even if it was slowly dawning on her, it felt like the gears in her mind were turning groggily, and Eren had spent so much time prefacing he had yet to propose what he meant. And a part of her needed to hear him say it.

“I mean, the biggest problem is that I want both of you. And I could go back to Jean like you said, but how am I supposed to be completely happy knowing how _you_ feel and knowing that _we_ could be together? And on that note, how am I supposed to be with Jean if he’s still thinking about you half the time anyway—er, I mean, I don’t know if, uh, if you know how Jean feels—”

Worrying that he’d somehow leaked a secret he shouldn’t have, he tripped over his tongue until Mikasa nodded. “Yeah, I know.”

“Oh,” his shoulders dropped in relief. “Well, there you go.”

“So, what, you’re saying… we should all date each other?”

“Yes!” Eren exclaimed a little too enthusiastically, before doubling back. “I mean, again, only if it’s something that you would want… like, if you wouldn’t even go on a date with Jean, forget about it. We can think of something else, I’m sure of it.”

Mikasa purposefully evaded the question, biting her lip thoughtfully. “Are you sure that Jean would even agree to this?”

“Well, no, I’m not totally sure,” he admitted tentatively. “He gets… kinda jealous, sometimes, but… wouldn’t this fix that? Either way, I do know that he’s in the exact same boat I am. It’s just us two. That’s all he wants. And you know him almost as well as I do—do you think he’s gonna say no?”

“No,” she mused, shaking her head. “No, he won’t.”

“Again,” he emphasized as carefully as he could. “I don’t know how you feel about him, and it’s up to you, but… I was just curious, I guess? And it seemed like we kinda weren’t gonna talk about last night—”

“Which we weren’t,” she interjected, a slight pink dusting her cheeks, because she could already tell what he wanted to bring up.

“Right… but you were one hundred percent licking swimmers off my face and I feel like maybe we _should_ talk about it—”

“I—” she cut him off, before she realized she didn’t have any idea what to say. Rubbing a hand over the side of her face, she weakly admitted, “I don’t know… exactly why I did that.”

And even if that had been the moment that piqued Eren’s interest, had confused him enough to stir up this idea, she found herself looking back on the last few days with an anxious self-reflection. Jean had always been a good friend—was one of the few people in the world, at this point in her life, that she trusted deeply and wholeheartedly—and of course she _cared_ about him. Whenever that had moved into whatever bizarre territory this was, she wasn’t sure. She thought back to Saturday evening—after the guilty and puzzled thoughts about what she’d done to Eren subsided—when she had caught a glimpse of him backstage. When she had tried to see what Eren saw in him, had seen it. When she, for some godforsaken reason, let her mind wander, caught herself longing to know what he had been thinking the night they were together. Did all of this curiosity stem from just knowing that he had existed in some sexual context for her, which never would have crossed her mind before? _Did_ she like Jean more than she realized?

“Eren,” Mikasa shook herself out of her own thoughts as something else occurred to her. Something that weighed less heavily on her mind. “You were… pretty upset on Saturday morning. After you—well, we—found out about what happened. And now… you _want_ me to fuck your boyfriend?”

“Only if you want to,” he tossed his hands up in deference. “It’s not about what I want—”

“I know,” Mikasa said. “This isn’t… swaying my decision one way or the other, I’m just confused. This is something you’re okay with, too?”

“Well, I brought it up, didn’t I—”

“Eren,” she interrupted gently, hoping for one clean, straightforward answer to her question. “You can be honest with me. Every part of this arrangement should be something you want, too. Do you want me to fuck your boyfriend?”

“Yeah,” he answered, more quickly than she thought he would. Without much thought, he blurted out, “I’d like that a lot.”

“...Oh.” 

A deep flush crept up the nape of his neck the longer he thought about what he’d said, and she just blinked in surprise.

“We can talk about it more tomorrow, if you’d like,” he stammered, still a bit red in the face and likely eager to change the subject, since he wasn’t sure how Mikasa would take to what he had just admitted. His eyes trained on her—sparkling that glossy, deep viridian and slanted in concern—and he assured, “There’s no rush either, by the way. Don’t feel like you have to say anything tonight.”

Mikasa nodded, granted him a soft smile. He returned it, quirking his lip ever so slightly, and settled under the covers with her. The dark-haired girl turned around, nestling to the warmth at her back, and wasn’t surprised when his arms folded around her, drawing her close. She felt the tip of his nose brush up behind her ear—felt his soft exhale break over the shell of her ear, eliciting tingles through her. Mikasa shivered as she bit her lip and squeezed his arm.

While he slept, his drowsy breaths still tickling at her skin, her body bundled in his arms and more at peace than she thought she’d ever have the right to be, she lay awake and thought about Jean.

She thought about it the way Eren had proposed it, without even meaning to: _If you wouldn’t even go on a date with Jean, forget about it_. If Jean asked her out on a date tomorrow—and her feelings for Eren weren’t at all betrayed by doing so—would she say yes? She wondered where they would go—a park, or an aquarium—even just a nice and nostalgic drive perhaps, cupholders stocked with milkshakes—and she realized that regardless of where they hypothetically went, she would like to spend more time with Jean anyways. As friends, or otherwise. She had enjoyed spending time with him this morning, even if he was brooding with a busted jaw. They got along better than any strangers on a first date could hope for, at least.

And something else that finally popped into her mind, hours’ worth of pleasant and drowsy thoughts aside, was that this would be her first time ever dating someone where it wasn’t her current partner instead of Eren, or versus Eren. It would be her partner _and_ Eren. She wouldn’t have to split her affections anymore, guiltily burying part of how she felt despite caring for her partner—as she had with Annie, as she had always. She didn’t have to compare Jean to Eren if she had Eren, too. And Jean didn’t stir up that old jealousy in her—she’d be perfectly content to see them happy together as well, had said and meant as much, and this was even better than that. Surprisingly enough, in theory… it worked.

“Eren,” Mikasa rolled over, restlessness finally spilling over once that thought bubbled up in her mind. “Eren,” she breathed out softly again, shaking his arm.

His eyes remained shut, but he stirred with a sharp inhale, a soft, lopsided grin pulling at his lips.

“‘Kasa, hi,” he smiled, voice thick with sleep as he leaned forward—buried his nose in her coal-black hair, planting a sleepy kiss there.

“We can try,” she whispered. “I think we should try it.”

“Hm?” he grunted out curiously, muffled by her hair.

“You, me, and Jean,” she murmured, nuzzling up against his jaw, and leaning into the trail of lazy kisses he pressed across the crown of her head. “I think we should try it,” she repeated.

A moment of lucidity passed over Eren, and he realized what she meant. 

She could hear the grin in his voice as he whispered out, in surprise, “Yeah. Yeah, okay.”

He hugged her more tightly, and she finally allowed herself to relax in his embrace. Her pulse beat harder, faster, just from saying it out loud, but her head felt light as a buoy, untethered from doubt.

Eren’s coherence seemed to last a moment longer as he hesitantly mumbled, “Say… Mikasa, what time is it?”

“Around 4 A.M., I think,” she answered sheepishly.

“Can, uh… can we get a couple more minutes,” he whispered, snorting a bit at his own joke, and Mikasa lifted a hand to stifle her own chuckle.

“Yeah, go back to sleep,” she urged him, as quietly as she could—eager to follow suit.

  


* * *

Even if action was supposed to be more fruitful than discussion, as they sat down slowly on either side of Jean’s bed, both Mikasa and Eren caught themselves thinking this may be easier said than done.

“Jean, hey,” Eren tried rousing him as gently as possible. Splaying his hands on the sheets, he leaned forward and bumped his nose against his cheek, mumbling his name against the rough stubble lining his jaw. “ _Psst_ , Jean.”

Despite how Eren murmured his name—pushed at him gently, eased him toward consciousness—Jean didn’t wake up. Eren squinted… before a mischievous smile quirked at his lips. He promptly blew a wet, loud raspberry on the tip of Jean’s nose—earning himself a loud slap to the face when Jean’s hand shot up to swat at the disturbance—and Eren threw his head back to laugh.

“ _Pfft_ , good reflexes,” Eren snorted, lifting a hand to his lightly stinging cheek.

“...Eren?” Jean peeled his eyes open. He rubbed blearily at one brandy-gold eye, the other barely cracked. It was clear that he wasn’t expecting to see him here—their last discussion hadn’t ended on the best note, after all—and confusion bested any irritation or relief he felt at seeing him again. Still groggy, he was about to open his mouth to ask… when he felt the mattress shift to the other side of him.

He turned his sleepy, clouded gaze over slowly to the other person sharing his bed—and this _did_ wake him up.

“...and Mikasa, oh, hey,” he sputtered, struggling to sit up, self-consciously pulling the comforter a little higher over his hips. He looked between the both of them, caught off guard, and managed, “What’s, uh, what’s up guys?”

He spared a glance at Mikasa, who was giving Eren a very pointed stare, who simply cleared his throat.

“So,” he started enthusiastically. “Mikasa and I think we’ve figured it out. We have an idea about how this… whole shitty love triangle thing can work out for all of us. And we’re here… hoping that you’ll help us test that out?”

“What’s the idea?” he asked plainly.

“Oh, um… well, it’s all three of us,” Eren clarified awkwardly, hoping his vague answer was interpreted as the coupling. It wasn’t.

“All three of us doing what?” Jean blinked.

“Each other,” Mikasa cut in, trusting Eren to beat around the bush as much as he had last night. If the flush on Eren’s face after hearing her say it was any indicator, she was right. “...And other activities too, I guess, since that’s what dating is.”

Jean swallowed hard as her words sunk in. He was hard-pressed to keep a cool exterior when his lungs felt ten times shallower than before—mind reeling—and he could barely hear himself above the rush of hot blood to his ears as he turned back to Eren.

“So… so when you said ‘test it out’, you mean…,” he sent Eren a very loaded look, and the brunette nodded back earnestly.

“Like… _now_? Right now?” he inquired, whipping his head to look at both of them, who nodded back all too seriously.

A thought crossed his mind, and he spared a concerned and skeptical glance to each of them. “...Y’all aren’t high again, right?”

“What? No,” Eren frowned.

“Absolutely,” Mikasa crossed her arms, answering what she deemed to be a bad question as sarcastically as possible. “I start every morning with a fresh 9 A.M. rail straight off of Eren’s hard dick and a glass of orange juice.”

Jean snorted hard at that, and her wisecrack actually split through the strung tension of the room, nervousness dissipating. The man rifled his fingers through his dark ash blonde hair, swiping it away from his face as he shook his head and smiled. “Alright, in my defense, the last time I talked to _you_ —” he shot Eren a wry glance, “—you shoved me into a counter, and then you show up asking for a threesome at nine fuckin’ A.M.—”

“Still sorry about your jaw, by the way,” Eren winced.

“Uh-huh.” His voice was surprisingly nonchalant as he carried on, “Anyways, last I heard about both of you boning out of the blue, for literally no reason, your faces were full of blow, so…”

“Yeah, it’s not a bad guess, actually,” she shrugged, ceding once she thought about how their proposition was likely just as sensical as Jean wondering if they’d started the day with a couple bumps.

Eren breathed out a laugh, and the three of them fell into a lighthearted and tentative lull. Jean was the first to speak—and even though no one had corrected him when he had said threesome, he still wondered if there was room to be too presumptuous, or misinterpret something, since the prospect still made his head spin.

“So, uh… if you’re both serious and not high, then… what did you have in mind, exactly?”

“Well,” Eren roped an arm around his shoulder and tossed his head to gesture to the girl sitting across from him. “Mikasa and I talked about it a little this morning, and since she doesn’t remember anything, we agreed it’d be nice if you jogged her memory, yeah?”

Eren continued before he could fully gauge his startled reaction. The idea sent nervous thrills through him. And while he’d done an excellent job thus far of concealing his stubborn morning wood, he wasn’t sure if he concealed the aroused shiver that coursed through him, pulsed hard in his groin.

“ _But_ , she also insists that you really oughta try me out, if you know what I mean,” Eren grinned.

“Hard recommend,” she dipped her head, and Jean’s flush came back with a vengeance once he’d garnered what they meant.

“That way—you know, if you’re nervous—you don’t have to do anything you haven’t done before. It’s the same,” Eren tried to reason, before adding, “...’cept I’m also fucking you in the butt.”

“That doesn’t make it the same at all, Eren,” Jean shot back incredulously, face bright red, but… he didn’t object.

“Sure it does,” he frowned and shrugged.

“Jean,” Mikasa placed her hand on his forearm. “We seriously don’t have to, if you’re actually nervous. We could do something else, or save it for another day.”

“It’s not that I don’t want to, I—” Jean paused to think about it, and, nerves aside, _of course_ he wanted to have sex with both Eren and Mikasa—even if the thought that both of them wanted to do it at the same time made it feel like the sky above was crumbling apart. And even if Mikasa said it could be saved for another day, and they spoke as if some lasting solution was brewing, he couldn’t shake the novel feeling that this was a chance he wouldn’t have again. “I’m good, actually… I want to, really.”

“Awesome,” Eren beamed, and, pinching the neckline behind him, tugged off his sleep shirt in one fluid motion. He swung his legs off the bed, clad only in boxers, and started walking across the room.

“You still keep the stuff in the closet?” he asked.

“Yeah,” Jean nodded back numbly. Immediately next to him, Mikasa followed suit, taking off her own shirt—and once Mikasa was topless, it struck him that things were actually in motion—that this was _happening_ —

“Why can’t you just keep them in the bedside table, like a normal person?” Eren griped.

“What, and have my mom find them when she visits?” Jean shot back, hoping his voice was still steadier than he felt. Now that things were moving, there was stuff he felt like he was forgetting, things that he had to prepare for, because _Christ_ , he’d only just woken up—

“How often does your mom pop up unannounced and search your things?” Eren asked, fishing around on the top shelf of the closet on his tiptoes.

“More than you’d expect, actually,” Jean admitted dourly. He figured that, no matter what, his first step should at least be getting out of bed, like the other two had, and he tentatively pushed down the sheets and scooted out. “She can’t search what she can’t reach—”

A low whistle cut him off—also surprised the person whose lips it left, probably—and he turned in time to catch Mikasa mumble out, under her breath, “Holy shit… five bucks to Eren, I guess.”

Which puzzled him… until he realized she was training her gaze on his lap, and on the thick, long shape pressed taut to the fabric of his boxers, tenting it out.

He gulped, turning the most accusatory gaze he could manage on the other man—which, unfortunately, only met the back of his head. “What did Eren say, exactly?” 

He had to fight the urge to cover himself again—because given what they were about to do, what good would it do to be embarrassed about nudity?—but thankfully, Mikasa wasn’t holding eye contact with his morning wood anymore. Jean met her eyes—noticed, laughably, how much strain he’d been putting into explicitly _not_ looking at her breasts—and this was going to go splendidly, wasn’t it?

“That you were a tripod—his words, verbatim, not mine,” she raised her hands defensively. Knowing Eren’s vocabulary, he really didn’t need the disclaimer. “Which I didn’t believe, just because you’d think I’d remember that—”

“To which I said you probably wouldn’t, if you didn’t remember whether you’d pissed yourself or gotten laid,” Eren chimed in absentmindedly, seeming to have found the box he’d been looking for.

“Still… I don’t know, wouldn’t I kinda feel it the next day?” she mused doubtfully.

“I mean, I don’t think he, like, busted you up with it,” Eren spared a concerned look over his shoulder, in the middle of hoisting the box back onto the shelf. “Plus, he said you were a real smooth ride, so—”

“ _Not_ verbatim,” Jean emphasized, shooting Eren a mortified warning glare.

“Huh,” Mikasa thought aloud to herself, the wording ignored entirely. “Good for me.”

“Wait, did you seriously bet money on it?” Jean’s brows cinched together.

“Yep… She bet me money on the size of a dick I sucked less than forty-eight hours ago.”

Mikasa turned to Jean with an unapologetic shrug. “I got like four hours of sleep last night and this wasn’t my best moment.”

“Alright,” Eren had started walking over to the bed again, where the two of them waited, both only in their underwear. He balanced a tube of lube and a box of condoms in his hands, starting, “Well, regardless of what we do, I felt like we might need—”

Jean’s door—for the umpteenth time that week—blasted open and slammed into the wall with an earsplitting crack, loud enough to shatter the hinges. It was that exact moment that, regardless of how well things went, it became evident that this still had the potential to be one of the most awkward events in the history of their friend group.

“Jean, I swear to _fucking_ god—if you leave a pile of dishes in the sink one more time, when there’s a perfectly good dishwasher right there, so help me _lord_ —I’m gonna—”

Ymir halted abruptly in her tirade, skidding to a stop and soaking in the scene before her. Both she and Historia froze wide-eyed in the doorway, eyes flickering between Mikasa and Jean sitting half-naked on the bed and the items in Eren’s arms.

The three stared back, eyes saucer-wide and unblinking. No one moved for a solid minute, until Ymir finally broke the silence. 

“...I’ve had the misfortune of knowing all of you for almost a decade, and I’m one hundred percent sure this is the worst idea you’ve ever had.”

None of them knew exactly how to respond to that—still striking a remarkable resemblance to a pack of deer in headlights—but Mikasa figured she may as well mop up a misconception while no one else was talking. 

“The dishes are actually my fault,” she confessed, ignoring the deeply uncomfortable standoff and the fact that the mess in the sink was probably long forgotten. “I was borrowing Jean’s plates. I’ll wash them after… we do this.”

“Wait,” Jean’s brows furrowed as he turned toward Mikasa, quietly mumbling, “Why are you using my plates?”

“Mine are in the dishwasher,” she defended. “And you have twice as many plates as I do.”

“Oh… well, that’s fine. I guess I didn’t even notice.” He nodded back, the mundane roommate discussion somehow taking precedence over the exposure of their less-than-decent situation.

“Y’know what? It’s all fine, the dishes are fine, Mikasa,” Ymir sighed sadly as she appraised all of them. “And I really, _really_ regret coming to ask about them and learning about this instead—wait. Oh my god, _wait_ —” she clapped a hand to her mouth and snorted into her palm incredulously. “Is that Jean’s _dick_?”

“Don’t fuckin’ look at it!” Jean snapped, drawing his knees up to his chest as she cackled.

“What the _fuck_? Holy shit, Eren, I’ve got so much more respect for you and your asshole now,” she wheezed out in between astonished laughs. “I can’t believe it. Forget what I said—scream your fuckin’ head off if you want, man, you— _ha_ , Christ, you’ve earned it—”

Eren—face flushed and frowning—whipped his arm back like he was going to hurl the lube at her, but she was quick to fling up her hands in surrender.

“Don’t— _pfft_ , god, don’t fuckin’ throw that shit, Eren,” she wiped at one of her eyes, still hoarse from laughter. “I don’t know who, but someone’s gonna need it.”

“Aw, Ymir, you’re embarrassing them,” Historia chastised her girlfriend, taking pity on their three friends’ anxious and awkward expressions. She tugged at her arm. “Come on, we still have time to get coffees before the meeting. You want coffee?”

“Hm? Duh.”

“Then let’s just leave them alone,” she beseeched her, wrenching on her arm a little harder.

“Yeah,” Ymir caved, deflating with an honest sigh. “Okay, that’s a fair point… and I really don’t wanna be around to hear this.”

The two turned, Historia walking ahead. Ymir reached around to grab the doorknob and shut the door behind them, but something occurred to her, and she paused with it cracked.

“Yo, by the way, Eren, are we still on for tonight?” she asked, as if she hadn’t just spent the last awkward minute cackling at his expense.

“What? Oh, yeah, of course,” he mumbled.

She clicked her tongue and shot him a finger gun, and then the brunette was out the door.

The three of them stared blankly at the white door after she’d left. It was Jean who—unsure what exactly he had left to lose—distantly murmured, “What, uh, what’re you doing with Ymir tonight?”

“Hm? I’ll tell you guys later.”

Eren plopped down on the bed, looking a little uncertain. He glanced between the both of them.

“So, uh… do y’all still wanna fuck?” Eren delivered the question as gracelessly as possible, and Jean just pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned. Eren and Mikasa looked at him expectantly.

“Well… Yeah,” he reluctantly admitted, still grumpy about the interruption—though in some ways, even if he wouldn’t say so, he was at least thankful for the sobering delay and spare time to think. “Is it alright if I go to the bathroom? Brush my teeth, get ready?”

“Yeah, ‘course,” Mikasa assured him, tucking a strand of raven hair behind her ear, and Eren nodded along.

“That morning glory’s fuckin’ ridiculous,” Eren mumbled under his breath after Jean stood up, noting that even after Ymir’s brusque interruption, he was somehow still hard.

“I _know_ ,” Jean groaned defeatedly. “It’ll go down once I get a chance to walk around, take a piss.”

“Bring us back a _real_ boner!” Eren cupped his hands around his mouth to shout once Jean was walking to the bathroom. The blonde paused in front of the bathroom door just to glare, before walking inside without a word.

Once the bathroom door shut, Mikasa shot a sidelong glance at Eren. “Still think the table talk would have been a worse idea?”

Eren shook his head, snorting in spite of himself. “Okay… this could be going better.”

The two smiled, lounged on the bed in the meantime. She was uncertain how much time had passed, but after it felt like it’d been a little too long, she frowned. Mikasa propped her head up on her chin, elbow digging into Jean’s pillow, and glanced over her shoulder at Eren, who was laying right behind her.

“You don’t think Jean’s actually in cardiac arrest in there right now, right?” she asked curiously. “This was kinda a lot.”

“Yeah, you’re right, it was,” he rubbed a hand over his chin, narrowing his eyes at the door.

“We can’t spring him if he’s dead, Eren,” she slouched, looking up at him pitiably.

“We could start warming up now,” Eren posited, threading his fingers through his dark hair. “That way, y’know, if he’s been freaking out, he’ll come out and forget about it. Say he’s had a heart attack, we can just res-erect him… get it?”

Mikasa stifled a snort and shook her head. “And if he’s actually straight-up dead?”

“You can go check on him, if you’re actually worried—”

The bathroom door creaked open, and both Eren and Mikasa visibly relaxed a bit, without even meaning to. Jean approached the bed, still in boxers—seemed surprised when Mikasa’s hand reached out, but took it anyways, allowing himself to be ushered into laying down next to her. 

Jean looked less nervous, she noted, wondering if he’d really spent his time in the bathroom giving himself the longest pep talk in history. Tentatively, she reached out—fingers brushing softly over his throat, smoothing over the skin until her fingertips rested at the back of his neck, her thumb under the base of his jaw. And she felt him shiver, ever so slightly, in anticipation for her touch—felt his fast, hard pulse beating against the palm of her hand—and he was still just as nervous as she was.

Even if her nerves weren’t external, her pulse still thundered in her ears, heart fluttering like a bird caught in the cage of her ribs. And, as she traced her fingertips gently over the nape of his neck—felt him relax as the pads of her fingers swept feather-light across the delicate skin of his throat, tingling at the base of his skull—that same curiosity as before goaded her on. She relished in the tremor that ran through him when her grip tightened, focused on his pale pink lips. Mikasa _wanted_ to kiss Jean—and her heartrate quickened, because this was the first time she’d be kissing him on purpose, after all—and her nervousness and excitement meshed, magnified everything. Breaths shallow and heartbeat loud, she finally guided his head down and met his lips.

The man was still for just a second, before his lips slowly moved against hers. Jean pressed slow, soft kisses to her mouth—felt her shaky exhale, her nose flush to his cheek. He grew bolder as she began kissing him back—his lips tenderly enveloping her own, softly sucking her bottom lip and letting it go with a pop—and the kiss was slow and curious, as starved as it was savored. Mikasa could have been content with its excitement, content to do nothing but feel his soft lips brush against hers. She would be content if _all_ they did today was kiss, since she was still uncertain if Jean’s machine-gun heartbeat meant he’d rather wait. But curiosity still parted her mouth, let her tongue sweep lightly across his lips. His breath hitched as the tip traced so tenderly over them. And, after a second of open-mouth anticipation, Jean took the bait, tongue delving past his lips and laving gently against hers, and she groaned weakly.

It was in that moment he seemed to realize he could touch her, too, and the hand of the arm he was resting on drifted up to gingerly cup her face. His fingers sifted through strands of her silky black hair, pressed warm against her cheek, and she leaned into the touch. It drew her in closer each time their lips meshed, breaths mingling. His other hand hovered for a moment, before he settled it on the curve of her hip. Eren’s hand slid over her side then, too—smoothing over her abdomen, over soft, yielding skin and hard, svelte muscle—and she shuddered at the intimate touch. His knuckles dragged gossamer light over her stomach, tickling over her ribs, up to the swell of her breasts. She breathed out a soft sound into Jean’s mouth when his fingers slid up over the curve of her breast… when his calloused fingertips brushed carefully over her nipple, sending thrills through her. Mikasa wondered, feeling the heat of his body only inches from her back, if Eren was enjoying this the way she thought he might be—wished he would press up against her back and show her. Wondered if Jean was enjoying this, too, and was uncertain whether or not she should try and find out for herself. The heat of their bodies on either side, the feathery touches sending tremors down her spine—it all built up, heat curling in her gut, pulsing in between her legs, and she found herself flexing her hips ever so slightly, parched for more.

Eren’s other hand swept her neck clean of hair, and she felt his head dip down, lips latching onto her exposed throat. Her quiet whimper seemed to reverberate on Jean’s lips, and she remembered that this was part of it, too—Jean was supposed to see them together. He had to want to see Eren and Mikasa together as well… and call it off if he couldn’t. She rolled her tongue against Jean’s, swallowed down the soft moan that broke softly against her lips. Eren’s teeth grazed over the sinews of her throat, his tongue lapped at the tender flesh—and a twinge of pleasure shot through her when his fingers pinched softly at her dark pink nipple. Her body twisted, arched at the stimulation, and Eren’s hand slipped off her breast. Her eyes fluttered open, and she saw his hand skimming over the muscles of Jean’s arm, down to the small of his back. 

She could hardly protest the loss—not when he was still pressing wet, open-mouthed kisses across her sensitive throat, her eyelids fluttering shut as she sighed. She realized she wasn’t going to protest at all when it became clear that he was grasping Jean’s back to pull him nearer, drawing all of their bodies closer together.

Her breath stuttered when Eren pressed searingly hot to her backside—felt, even through his boxers, his hard cock nestled against her rear, pushing against the small of her back—and she curved her back to push against him, breaking her and Jean’s kiss. Eren’s hips rolled forward, pushing her up against Jean… and she bit down hard on her lip when she felt it. The thickness and heat and weight of Jean’s cock, straining hard against the fabric and pushing against her stomach. She wondered, from how he froze, if he’d been trying _not_ to touch her with it—just as uncertain as she was about where their boundaries were supposed to start, about what the other wanted. However, it was clear from just looking at those lust-blown golden eyes, from just _feeling_ his desperation pressed against her, that he wanted it just as bad as they did. Any reservations be damned. Her eyes hovered over his parted lips for just a moment, before she swayed her hips to grind against him and dragged him back into a kiss.

Eren rocked against her back, muffled a groan against her neck that made her shiver, and she felt his bicep shift as his arm moved. His hand slid up Jean’s back, brushed past her grip on his neck, knotted in his hair. And he softly tugged Jean’s head up, breaking their liplock, only to draw him into another rough, breathless kiss. Eren leaned over her, but she still had view of Jean’s surprised eyes, before they shut as he melted into Eren’s kiss, deepened it. There was nothing jealous in how he had taken Jean’s mouth from her—maybe something overly eager, but not envious. And she wondered if it was a test in part, since it seemed like Jean was responding well to both of them, to them together… but the rock hard shaft to her back told her that Eren probably wasn’t thinking that far ahead.

Once Eren had drawn back from the kiss, licked his lips, she realized she had room to toss over onto her back. The moment she had turned, lolling her head over to look at Eren, she was swept up in another kiss as well—his fingers hot as they fanned over her cheek, tilting her head. She moaned against his lips—the kiss far more rushed and hungry than she’d been prepared for, stealing the breath from her lungs—and she didn’t realize how dizzy all of this had made her until they broke apart with a gasp. She only became dizzier when she felt a smattering of light kisses, trailing from her shoulder down over her chest. They stopped just short of her breast. 

“Is—is it alright if—,” the blonde stammered, breathing hard, and Mikasa looked down at him, realizing he was probably waiting for some kind of permission. Because this was _all_ so boundless and new—and she was quickly nodding back before she even realized it.

Eren pressed kisses across her cheek as Jean’s lips slowly, tentatively curled over her nipple. Her body twitched the moment he took it gently between his teeth, a hot jolt of liquid pleasure piercing through her—and she squeezed her thighs together, suppressing a moan. She watched as his tongue laved over it, those rough tastebuds eliciting shivers down her spine—and a part of her thought that maybe she should have felt strange or self-conscious at the idea of being on display for someone who’d been a friend, for someone she knew better than a stranger and less than a lover. And maybe she would have, if he wasn’t looking at her like _that_. Something enamored weighed down the look in his brandy eyes, something awestruck—something _reverent_. A suppliant on his knees, at the mercy of something greater than him. Hearing “Jean’s into you” couldn’t possibly have prepared her for this—for how his eyes roamed over her porcelain skin, how he held her so carefully. Couldn’t have prepared her for being treated like something precious, something solely sustaining him. Couldn’t have prepared her for the possibility that maybe Jean loved her, a lot.

And, caught flush between the man behind this realization and the man she’d spent the better part of her life wanting hopelessly, this was a lot more overwhelming than she’d expected it to be.

Eren was at her side now, and his teeth grazed tantalizing slowly over the shell of her ear, raising the hairs on the back of her neck—bit down on the lobe, those gorgeous green eyes drinking in her shudder. And her ink-black eyes flickered down again, to where Jean had wasted no time in moving to kiss her stomach next—and she realized then, as he was working his way down, what he’d been asking permission for. Nervous and eager anticipation rippled through her. She spread her thighs slightly as he shifted over her, angled her legs so that he was between them—fought to keep her hips still as his lips curled over the tender skin of her stomach, as his breath washed over her. 

Once he had passed her navel, he hooked his thumbs in her underwear, but kept his hands steady—fingers dipping, massaging into the soft flesh of her hips. Jean’s lips passed the hem of her underwear and drifted over to her thigh. Warmth branched through her nerves, pooled between her legs, when he softly sunk his teeth into the sensitive skin. Her hips flexed forward as he nipped at that tender flesh, leaving a trail of goosebumps—hot lips, warm breath, and the rush of cool air left in their wake. He reveled in her reactions, those lips and teeth sucking and biting at her thighs, sending thrills coursing through her. All at once, she noticed how still Eren was next to her… and she looked up to find him transfixed—eyes hooded and boxers tented, watching how tremors had started running through her legs, watching Jean enjoy himself. And she’d give him a chance to watch, later, but she realized, due to the chaos and carnage of the last couple of days, she had only slept with Eren one time, the first time. And there was something she was longing to do.

“Take these off,” she breathed out, batting a hand at Eren’s boxers, even though her eyes were trained on Jean again. Her legs quivered, knees weak, the closer his lips brushed—and the pleasurable ache between her legs was growing unbearable—until he finally, _finally_ , closed the gap, pressing his hot lips against her cunt through her underwear. She couldn’t stop the whimper that slipped through her lips, hips thrusting up shallowly to meet him—felt his fingers squeeze hard into her soft flesh, saw him grind his own hips against the mattress, pressing his painfully-hard cock to the bed for any relief—and she bit her lip at how much this had unraveled him, before he’d even tasted her yet.

Jean began pulling at her underwear, and she shifted to help him, sitting up against the pillows slightly. He tugged them slowly over her thighs—mouth watering at the sight of her flushed cunt, at the glistening string of wetness clinging to her underwear as he pulled them away. Mikasa inhaled sharply at being exposed, lifted her feet as he lowered her panties past them and cast them to the side. Motion caught her eye, and she became aware that Eren had done as she asked. He was kicking his own boxers off his ankles, and just seeing his cock—dark and flushed and glistening at the tip—sent electricity through her.

“Come here, get up here,” she gestured breathlessly to Eren, patting the space to either side of her shoulders, head raised on the pillows. Once he understood what she was asking for, he nodded, eyes wide. Hesitantly, he straddled over her shoulders—the tip of his cock just inches from her lips.

And this was something she’d wanted for a long time, too—something she’d admittedly thought about before when she’d walked in on Eren with a hard-on, getting head or getting himself off otherwise (which had, for better or worse, happened not irregularly, since he never remembered to lock the door and she never remembered to knock). She thought about how it would feel to wrap her lips around him, how it would feel to take his cock in deep, spit-soaked and shining as it slid in and out of her lips. And it was this oral fixation, nearly realized, that had her gently pulling his hips forward—that had her lips curling over the flushed head of his cock—that had her needy tongue licking over the beaded pre-cum at the tip, tasting the salt of him. He groaned softly as she took the head into her mouth, swirling her tongue around it and feeling his thighs tense. At that exact moment, Jean spread his tongue flat and lapped over her wet cunt, the tip sliding over the bump of her clit—and she jerked, her loud moan vibrating around the cock in her mouth.

Slowly, experimentally, she guided him in deeper—felt him out slowly with her tongue as she slipped him in and out of her mouth, squeezed her lips tight over the ridge of the head as she popped it into her mouth, watched his head roll back in ecstasy. And even if she missed staring into his eyes once he tossed his head back, she was still privy to the expanse of muscle before her, to how his body tensed and clenched as she tenderly took him apart, made him come undone—and it sent a jolt of satisfaction down her spine, pulsing deep between her thighs. Jean’s deft tongue began steadily laving over her clit, and she trembled every time it slipped over her wetness. She was so, _so_ sensitive—body a live wire, crackling and snapping with every touch, overwhelmingly aroused—and Eren’s taste on her lips only intensified every sweep of Jean’s tongue, heat building in her quivering cunt. 

Eren’s hips were thrusting shallowly as she bobbed her head, and he moaned aloud each time his cock pushed past those full lips and velvet tongue, into the wet, exquisite heat of her mouth, again and again. A shudder ran through him when he met her eyes, shadowed by thick lashes and dark with lust. And as he watched his shaft squeeze through those pink, glittering wet lips, the pressure that built in his throbbing cock was almost too much. She was moaning shamelessly each time the swollen head pushed hard against the back of her tongue, each time his thick shaft stretched her lips wide—hands on his thighs, pulling him closer and closer. Becoming closer and closer herself, as Jean’s eager lips and tongue drew more warmth to her groin. And her legs had started shaking bad—quaking as Jean’s tongue delved between them—as he started kissing and sucking at her lips, as he sucked at her clit, tongue still laving between his lips as he did so—and that was the tipping point, the heat tightening in her cunt, swelling until it was unbearable, welling up until it was spilling over—

Mikasa all but screamed as she thrust her hips hard against Jean’s mouth, pleasure coursing through her, so intense that it was nearly excruciating. Her cunt throbbed deliciously, almost painfully, as shocks rippled through her, and she dug her fingernails into Eren’s thighs sharply enough to cut, clamped her thighs hard around Jean. Brusque, broken moans reverberated around Eren’s cock—still so hot and heavy on her tongue—as she rode out her orgasm. Even in her thighs’ grip, Jean continued licking steadily—and full shivers ran through her body as she writhed against the sheets, so sensitive that it was nearly maddening. Eventually, she whimpered, pushed on Eren’s thighs, and he pulled his cock out of her mouth—and neither of them realized until then how little she’d been able to breathe. 

Mikasa sucked in a deep gasp the moment her mouth was free, before coughing it back out. Her chest heaved with breath as Eren stepped to the side and knelt next to her. Dark hair fanning out beneath her, Mikasa’s head lolled back, and she looked absolutely dazed. Jean had stopped, was pulling at her legs—and it absently came to her attention that she’d probably been squeezing them hard enough to crush his skull. Wobbly as water, she let them drop limply apart. 

“You good?” Eren asked, concern lacing his voice as he reached out to touch her face. Her eyes, sparkling with tears at the corners, flickered up to meet his, out of focus. Her cheeks were smattered with red, and her flushed lips were still parted, chin wet, when she managed a reply.

“That was one of the best orgasms I’ve ever had,” she murmured out in a rush of air. She struggled to glance down at Jean, head still spinning and body still tingling. “You’re really good at that,” she mumbled earnestly.

“Thanks,” he managed, almost as flush-faced and dazed as she was in this surreal state. He pressed another soft kiss to her cunt, and his cock jumped hard at her appreciable moan, her back arching weakly.

“Jean,” Eren mumbled, reaching over for the lube. “Did you still want me to—I mean, only if you want—”

“Yeah,” Jean nodded, didn’t bother giving Eren time to finish the sentence. “I’m… mostly ready though, actually.”

“Oh,” Eren looked surprised, before smiling a little. “I guess that’s why you took a while, then?”

“Well, yeah, I had to get ready anyways,” Jean admitted, looking kind of sheepish. “I’ve… bottomed before, you know. Just not for you.”

Glancing down at Eren’s hard cock, and swallowing hard at the size of it, Jean tentatively got to his knees, raising his ass for him. His head, however, still hovered between Mikasa’s legs. The tip of his nose brushed softly against fine, trimmed, dark pubic hair as he leaned close to press another kiss to her clit, and she groaned, hissed out a soft, “Fuck, keep doing that.”

He felt the mattress dip behind him. Eren slowly lowered Jean’s underwear—suppressing a groan as he tugged the band past the soft, supple flesh of his ass, as Jean’s cock sprung free—and slipped them off his feet. A clack resounded as the top to the lube was snapped open, Jean sucked in a breath when he felt two of Eren’s fingers, wet and cool to the touch, probe at his ass, press slowly inside.

Eren sat back on his heels, watching his fingers glide smoothly into him. “Yeah, you did do a lot of my work for me.”

The brunette bit his lip—and even if he had to work him open a little more, he couldn’t complain about the view. Jean, spread open for him, flesh on his ass and thighs so soft he could barely resist biting into it—how Eren’s fingers sunk so effortlessly into him, filling him—how Jean shuddered a little when he curled them. How his long, thick cock hung between his legs—so achingly hard it was nearly red at the tip, leaking a string of pre-cum onto the sheets. How he still heard him licking lazily between Mikasa’s legs, and how he could hear that working her up again.

He withdrew the two fingers to add a third, slicking it up generously, and slid them back into Jean’s ass, slowly stretching him. The blonde’s breath hitched, and a soft sound left his lips as Eren crooked them, dragged them slowly. He pushed them languidly in and out, feeling that ring of muscles squeeze tight around his fingers, feeling it give. And even though Jean bit back a moan, trembled, each time he pressed against his prostate, he was still reserved, awkward in how he pushed back against him.

“Are you alright, Jean?” he lifted a brow curiously.

“Hm?” Jean breathed out, lips breaking away from Mikasa as he turned around to face him. “Yeah, it’s good. Why?”

“You just… seemed uncomfy, that’s all,” Eren mumbled.

“I’m fine, your fingers are just… really fucking bony,” he winced, bracing himself.

“What? No, they’re not,” Eren frowned, hand still in Jean’s ass. “ _Your_ fingers are really fucking bony. I’ve had both in my ass, I would know.”

“Well, now so have I!” Jean railed back.

“Both of you have bony fingers,” Mikasa groaned. “And if you two seriously fight right now, I’m gonna break them for both of you.”

Jean and Eren exchanged a nervous glance at that, both coming to the realization that some things really weren’t worth bickering over.

“Carry on,” the blonde nodded, and Eren suppressed a smile, shaking his head.

Jean turned his attention back to Mikasa, eyes shaded by dark blonde lashes—and startled when he felt her thin fingers thread through his long hair. Her grip tightened when he slowly swirled his tongue over her clit again. Under Jean’s constant attention—lips and tongue sucking and curling—interrupted by his occasional muffled groan, hot against her skin, when Eren did something right—that same pressure was building in her groin again. It had never really left—waves of pleasure from her first orgasm still washing over her, so tender that she was still tingling—and it felt like she was rocking back and forth, on the verge of tipping into it again. Every time Jean’s rough tongue slipped wet over her clit, every time she cried out, that raw pleasure would curl in her gut—but it was almost too much, almost _too_ sensitive, and she wasn’t sure she could get off again like this while the sensation was so overwhelming, so painfully tender. She knew what _might_ tip her over the edge, though.

Peeling her eyes open, she noticed that Eren seemed to be done preparing Jean, sitting back again—and she yanked lightly, fingers still rooted in his hair. He looked up, golden eyes locking with hers as she breathed out, “Fuck me.”

Jean released a quivering breath when he heard those words, shakily getting off his elbows and leaning onto his hands. She was beckoning him upwards, drawing him up over her—and she pulled him down into a messy kiss, tasting her cum on his lips. And Eren did have his chance to watch, she thought to herself, if he wanted it. 

“Did you guys want a condom?” the brunette asked, turning to reach for a cardboard box.

Jean and Mikasa both looked up at him.

“I’m probably not using one,” he shrugged, lifting the box, “But it’s up to you, ‘Kasa. You’re on his business end.”

“Hm… I think we’re probably fine without,” she shrugged.

“...Are we though?” Jean asked with emphasis, brows drawn curiously and skeptically. She just nodded back enigmatically, which didn’t exactly reassure him, and he was about to ask for elaboration when Eren’s hand clapped on his shoulder.

“You can go longer than last time. I believe in you,” Eren whispered, throwing in a thumbs up, and Jean just shot him a dirty look.

Mikasa raised her eyebrows, but roped her arms around his neck anyways. She spared a glance between them, opening her legs slightly—and bit down on her lip at the sight of Jean’s cock, literally dripping and rock hard just for her. She breathed out a soft sound as he aligned himself, swallowing thickly as the fat, swollen head pressed flush to her cunt. A shiver ran through her, pulsed wantonly inside her. She reveled in the heat radiating off of him, the pressure of that thickness pushing against her—and she sucked in a hiss when he started easing into her.

“Does it hurt?” he asked nervously, starting to pull back out—and that wasn’t what she wanted.

“No,” she half-lied, because even if it was a hell of a stretch, she wanted him—didn’t want to wait. Tingles thrilled through her at the thought, even with just the tip pressing inside of her, and she pushed against him, easing the entire head back in. “It’s just—whew—it’s a lot.”

Jean looked at her understandingly, and started very shallowly rocking his hips, pushing into her even more slowly. Surprisingly enough, she realized this helped, a soft moan tumbling from her lips as he softly thrusted into her wetness, keeping a steady pace, slipping a tiny bit deeper each time. The deeper he went, the more she relished in how it stretched her open, in how that thickness squeezed tight against that tender spot inside her. He stopped once he was in her to the root—and she took the time to adjust, feeling his heartbeat pulse hard inside of her and biting back a whimper—before he slowly drew back. He pulled out nearly to the tip, cock soaking wet with her cum and flushed deep pink, before plunging slowly back in. She slapped a hand over her mouth to cover a guttural moan as he thrust back into her.

“Is it okay?” he asked, breathing a little unsteady, looking at her with concern.

“It’s good— _god_ —it’s great, actually,” she almost whined, surprising herself as he moved again, setting a pace.

A deep, gratuitous moan tore its way out of her throat as he slipped into her wetness again and again, stretched her deliciously. And she’d been close before, but it was another sensation entirely to feel the plump head of his cock press into that tender place, to feel that liquid-hot pleasure shoot up her spine every time. Jean started to speed up a little, encouraged by the sounds she was making, crying out in reckless abandon—and he tucked his head beside hers, kissing her neck as he continued rutting into her. 

Mikasa cracked her eyes open, peeking past Jean’s shoulder… and caught a glimpse of Eren that made pleasure twist sharp in her gut. He watched them avidly, lust clouding his viridian eyes. Swirled his thumb slowly over the head of his cock, squeezed at himself just enough to grant some sweet relief. She held eye contact with him, lips parted and moaning, her whole body jerking with every rough, wet smack of Jean’s hips—watched how it made Eren unravel, pressing his lips together to stifle a groan. And this was for him as much as it was for Jean and herself—and euphoria pooled tighter in her groin as she watched Eren, so tight it nearly burst—and she held his gaze as long as she could, until she was too weak to lift her head and tossed it back into the pillows, eyes fluttering shut.

She rolled her head to the side, so that it was flush against Jean’s jaw, and kissed him there. Breathed in his scent, brushed her parted lips sloppily across the sheen of sweat on his cheek, mouth open as she cried out. He did smell nice, like Eren had mentioned—and he felt divine, his cock still pumping into her, stretching and filling her like nothing else had, gliding smoothly into the soft flesh of her cunt. She couldn’t help clenching hard with every thrust, felt herself soaking the back of her thighs as he rammed into her—nearly shouting as the head of his cock shoved against that sensitive spot, pleasure thrilling up her spine—and with how his hips slammed against hers, smacking hard against her flushed cunt, tingling in her clit… she was helpless to stop it.

A scream ripped free of her throat, and she slapped her clammy hands onto Jean’s neck and shoulder, grasping for dear life as she came. Her orgasm startled her as it crashed over her—pulsed hard inside her, clenched tight around Jean’s hard cock—and her scream tapered off into a moan. Jean’s hips stilled abruptly, while aftershocks were still coursing through her, and she groaned unhappily, thrusting her hips up.

“Oh, oh _god_ —Jean,” she managed in between moans, writhing against him, “Don’t fucking stop, _shit_ —keep, keep going—”

“I one hundred percent cannot keep going,” he wheezed out, cheeks red, looking kind of embarrassed. “I— _shit_ —I might need a break.” 

His cock throbbed inside of her, hard as iron—and she realized he was probably putting everything he had into staving off his own orgasm. He was astonished that he’d really even made it this far, because, god, this was _Mikasa_ , after all. Even with her chest still heaving, she granted him a sympathetic smile. That was alright.

Once they’d been still for a handful of seconds, breathing heavily, Jean slipped back out of her—shuddering hard, but keeping it together. Mikasa sprawled out for a minute, recuperating, while Jean sat back, looked to the side at Eren. He appeared particularly embarrassed when he locked eyes with Eren—a mortification of the guilty type. It was easy, with Eren sitting it out, just _watching_ him and Mikasa, to feel like he was doing something (or someone) he shouldn’t be—and he was about to overthink it, when Eren dove in to claim his lips. The blonde seemed a little shocked at first, blinking slowly—but sure enough, his muscles slowly uncoiled, and he relaxed, leaning back into Eren. The brunette slid a hand up his neck, fingertips brushing through the coarse dark blonde hair of his undercut, and clasped his jaw under his ear. His mouth moved to his throat, necking him.

“God, you make me so fuckin’ hot,” Eren rasped out against his throat, teeth grazing against his pulse point, and Jean’s eyelids fluttered shut, eyes rolling into the back of his head. “I want you. Now.”

Eren felt Jean nodding against him—let him go, leaning back onto the pillows and laying directly next to Mikasa. He swiveled his head to the side to look at her as Jean climbed on top of him. She lay there, still attentive but with a kind of dreamy smile on her face, and flashed him a peace sign. He just laughed, turning back to Jean.

The tall man straddled him, knees dipping into the mattress on either side. Eren bit his lip in anticipation, held his cock steady, but he was already so painfully hard that he barely needed to. Jean lowered himself—a shiver running through him when he felt the wet tip of Eren’s cock snug against his ass. He almost caught himself hoping for discomfort, for any distraction, because he was still so excruciatingly close, and even just the thought of Eren filling him—opening him up, making him come undone—had pleasure swelling in his gut. He uncapped the lube, slathering a fair amount over Eren’s cock—heard Eren’s pleased exhale as his hand glided slick over his shaft—and slowly began sinking down.

And—to his chagrin as much as his arousal—Eren’s cock pushed easily inside, gently stretching him, filling him flush. He paused to suck in a steadying breath a couple times, coaxing himself into relaxing—but before he knew it, he had taken in Eren’s entire length. A brief handful of seconds to accommodate him, and then Eren rocked his hips gently, experimentally. Jean stifled a deep groan at just feeling that thickness shift inside him, press deeper. And Jean was so hot inside—so searingly, deliciously hot—that Eren couldn’t help when his hips bucked up weakly. He slowly slid back out of Jean and in again—drank in the sight of the blonde as the head of his cock nudged, squeezed past his prostate—watched as Jean tossed his head back, as his cock jumped hard. Eren’s dark, glossy hair spilled over the pillows behind him, lip between his teeth and eyes adorant as they raked over the other man. Lingered on Jean’s thick, swollen cock, still glistening with Mikasa’s cum—and his own cock pulsed hard inside of him, hard enough for Jean to feel it, to stutter out a moan. Eren gradually began rolling his hips faster—pushing in deep, grinding his hips up against Jean’s when he took him to the root—and the building friction started to get to him, because Jean clamped _so_ tightly around him, was so soft-fleshed and wet inside. He realized he didn’t have a lot of room to laugh at Jean’s stamina when the mere sight of the man had him falling apart, had his cock throbbing and ready to burst.

Clutching the other man by the waist, his hips were a blur as they slapped hard against Jean’s ass, as he thrust his cock into a wetness that made his knees weak and his legs tremble. And Jean was full-on shaking, groans bursting free of his lips as he pounded into that sensitive spot. Eren wondered if he could get Jean off just like this. Even as Jean practically bounced on Eren’s lap, his cock was straining so hard that it barely bobbed out of place, flushed a deep and aching red—and Jean was so, _so_ close, but this may not be enough. 

Eren peered over at Mikasa—and she looked less tired than before, gnawing at her lip as she watched them intently. Her thighs shifted, rubbed together at the spectacle they were making, and Eren had an idea.

“Hey, Mikasa,” he breathed out, smile devilish. “You wanna get in on this?”

The black-haired girl nodded, shifting up on her elbow. Eren stilled his hips and reached out to press just the fingertips of his hand to Jean’s chest, lightly pushing him into sitting straight up, his hard cock standing on full display. It wasn’t until Mikasa also straddled Eren, facing Jean, that he understood what they were suggesting.

“I, uh, I don’t know if that’s the best idea… I’m already pretty close, so,” he stammered out breathlessly. The blonde glanced down at Mikasa trying to angle her legs on either side of him, struggling to determine if her knees would reach the bed or if she needed to crouch, and he cast a puzzled frown downwards, mumbling out, “I also just feel like there’s probably a better way to do this…”

Ignoring his second comment, she braced her hands on his shoulders, and he looked up at her again. “Who cares. You’re supposed to get off, eventually,” she said simply, a soft smile hinting at her lips. “That’s the point. And I want you to.”

Jean swallowed hard at that—tried to clear his addled mind enough to nod his head. His pulse beat loud in his throat, probably beat hard against Mikasa’s hands where they dug into his shoulders—and the moan that squeezed out of his throat surprised him as she sunk down on his cock with ease. She also made a soft, strained sound once he was deep within her, pressed her forehead against his. He felt her harsh breaths washing over his lips… felt the bizarre intimacy of the brief moment. Then, she slowly moved, raising herself up. And even though she was steadying herself on his shoulders, he still clapped his hands beneath her thighs, lifting her—because it seemed like she had realized her thighs were slightly too short to reach the bed, and he doubted she needed the leg day exercise when her legs were already quivering.

She whimpered when she sank back down, jaw falling open, and Jean slowly worked with her to set a pace, guiding and lifting her along his cock. And it was then that Eren, biting his lip with the strain it took not to move, finally thrust deeper into Jean’s tightness, unbearably hard. Jean was oblivious to the sound that left his own lips as that plump head pushed deeper, dragged past that tender place, as Mikasa clenched harder around him. And even as he rolled his hips between the two of them, clutching Mikasa close to his chest, Eren was setting the pace—was pounding into him, shoving into his prostate hard enough to make his toes curl, to send pleasurable thrills down his spine. Was forcing Jean’s cock deeper into Mikasa’s wetness with every thrust, the tender head of his cock slamming into the soft flesh of her cunt, feeling how it made her tremble. And it swelled up faster than he had even expected, pleasure twisting tighter in his gut every time his thick cock squeezed into that exquisite wetness, every time Eren thrust excruciatingly, pleasurably into him—

“Mikasa, _fuck_ , you gotta get off,” he gasped out, barely managing the words. He tapped on her leg frantically. “You gotta get off— _shit_ , I’m gonna—”

But Mikasa didn’t get off, still riding him—fingers still clamped tightly onto his shoulders, ass still rippling with every wet slap of his hips against hers. And Eren hadn’t relented either—the internal and external stimulation too much—and in the moment it overwhelmed him, he panicked, pushing her off of him.

Mikasa slammed hard onto Eren, socking the wind out of him, the instant that Jean’s orgasm ripped through him—and he doubled over as he came, clenching hard around Eren, his cock throbbing, spurting thick ropes of white. He slapped a hand over his mouth as he groaned, rocking his hips slightly to press the cock inside him against his prostate as he finished—the ecstasy that wracked him almost blinding. Waves of pleasure still breaking hard over him, slowly dissipating, he reached down to squeeze at his cock, guiding a tight grip up it as it pulsed one last time, cum dribbling from the tip. Jean shivered… glanced up and met Mikasa’s wide, dark eyes.

“...I know we were joking about jogging my memory, but I actually think this kinda gave me flashbacks,” she blinked, reaching up to dab at a wet spot on her cheek where she’d been struck, and Jean’s cheeks reddened.

“ _What the f_ —,” Eren started to wheeze out, before coughing out a strained noise that resembled the word ‘fuck’. Mikasa was quick to roll off of him, onto her back next to him, and the brunette gulped back down the air that Mikasa’s weight slugged out of him.

“Easy, Eren, I think he was trying to save my internal organs,” she murmured jokingly, before mumbling under her breath, sounding surprised, “Cumshots at the fuckin’ speed of sound…”

“Sorry, shit, I… I wanted to make sure I pulled out in time,” he breathed out, chest still rising and falling. Mikasa and Eren exchanged a glance.

“We definitely should have told you this beforehand, but I am on birth control,” Mikasa raised her eyebrows, looking somewhat apologetic. “You know, heads up, just so you don’t have to chuck me out of a window the next time you bust a nut.”

Jean wanted to laugh—would have, probably, if he wasn’t completely mortified. Mikasa sat up, and Jean’s embarrassment only worsened when he noticed how remarkably she resembled a Pollock painting.

“When I said that we didn’t have to use a condom, I didn’t mean you _had_ to pull out. I meant that you could… you know.”

“...Oh,” he breathed out, flushing even darker—and that hadn’t even occurred to him. And the prospect mortified him further—if not only for the jolt of pleasure it sent straight to his spent cock.

“I’m alright, thanks for asking,” Eren bitched once he’d finally caught his breath, crossing his arms.

“Eren, I’m really sorry—” he began, because he hadn’t even really thought before tossing an unknown amount of muscle mass right on Eren’s gut—

“It’s fine,” he sighed, clearly not as mad as he was putting on. “I guess this makes us even on accidental injury, now,” he mused, reaching up to poke at the light bruise on Jean’s jaw and earning a hiss in response.

“Yeah, okay,” Jean raised his eyebrows, and Eren smiled back slightly.

Even though having the wind knocked out of him had softened his cock slightly, Eren rolled his hips forward, and Jean felt it pulse inside him. The brunette peeked over to the side at Mikasa.

“Got a seat with your name on it, if you want it,” Eren offered somewhat playfully, gesturing at his jaw. “I want some of what Jean keeps talkin’ about.”

Mikasa snorted and shook her head, but rose to her knees anyways—and seeing them smiling and joking did ease Jean’s immense embarrassment, on several fronts. The blonde watched her straddle Eren’s face—watched Eren’s strong forearms curl around the back of her legs, so that his hands were gripping the soft flesh of her inner thigh. Watched how her legs tensed and her back arched the second his lips made contact, watched the curve of her ass as she rocked her hips gratuitously against his face.

Much to Jean’s surprise, he didn’t mind it. The worried thought had crossed his mind, much earlier into their liaison, that maybe he could only stand to see them together if he was getting some _other_ kind of enjoyment out of it, if he was properly distracted. That maybe the instant that he’d gotten off, this would go back to being something that made him nervous and upset—something that would always be tinged with fear for him, if only because of how long he’d dreaded it. But, to his ultimate shock, as he listened to Mikasa’s whimpers while Eren ate her out, it wasn’t. If anything, it was the opposite… and he was startled again by the aroused stirring in his gut, at how his cock twitched when he watched her riding Eren’s mouth.

It was a feeling that was only magnified when Eren started thrusting steadily into him, angling his hips—and electricity shot through him when the swollen head pushed into that soft, tender spot. He cried out—because _Christ_ , he was blindingly, unbearably sensitive—and Eren saw fit to wring that sensation out of him as long as he could. And even though Eren knew that it might not work, assplay kept on giving even after one was spent—and he figured he might as well _try_ to coax one more out of Jean. And though he couldn’t see Jean—had his hands full with Mikasa, literally—something about the sounds Jean made, about how Jean squeezed around him, told him that maybe this would work.

Little to his knowledge, the closer he brought Mikasa, the closer he brought Jean as well—because he was transfixed. The sweat on her body gleamed white-glitter as she flexed and rolled on Eren’s lips, as his tongue slicked wetly over her. She had a grip in his dark hair, was rhythmically guiding his head back and forth as she rocked above him—riding him exactly as she wanted. And even though the pressure on his prostate was so sweet it was nearly agonizing, even though his spent cock was still throbbing, he still felt it swell with blood. He tried to flex toward and away from the overwhelming sensation, but Eren’s swift pace was hardly forgiving. Jean shook hard, his entire body trembling as Eren rammed into him again and again—felt Eren’s cock swell thicker inside him, heard him making sounds against Mikasa’s flesh that had thrills coursing down his spine—and knowing that Eren was close made him all but _ache,_ desperate to feel the other man spilling himself inside of him—

A sharp cry rang out—and he whipped his head up to see Mikasa double over, clench her hands in the pillow as she came again—and that nearly did it for Jean. He felt it tighten in his balls, coil in his gut—and the longer he watched Eren relentlessly slip his tongue over her cunt, holding her tight to his face as she writhed and moaned in more ecstasy than she could stand, the harder his cock grew, swelled painfully. And he _shouldn’t_ be hard again, he reckoned, looking down at it, glistening with his cum and hers, flushed a dark pink. But Mikasa was quivering, overwhelmed in pleasure, and Eren was plunging his cock deep inside of him, ever closer to his release—and his body couldn’t be bargained with.

The pace of Eren’s hips lessened—and Jean let out a broken moan at feeling his cock pump into him so excruciatingly slowly—but he realized Eren had focused his attention on Mikasa. The brunette let her go, mumbled something that Jean assumed was a question, checking in on her. The Ackerman girl rose up on quaking legs above his face—frowned at the wet stain stuck to Jean’s pillows where her chest had been pressed against it. She gave herself a once-over. In the time that had passed, the cum on her body had gone clear, was sluicing and dripping over the curves and dips of her body. The green-eyed man murmured something about cleaning her off—Jean didn’t catch exactly what it was, because it was spoken so softly—and he had already curled his fingers along her sides, guiding her down. His lips met her navel, and he sloppily rolled his tongue out over the wet flesh, tasting Jean and groaning against her skin. She shuddered as his tongue scooped and lapped up any evidence of Jean’s release, legs and arms both tremulous—from her sensitivity as much as from the exertion of holding herself up. And watching Eren absolutely relish in his taste, in messily licking her abdomen clean of his cum, had Jean’s cock aching, had him lightheaded. The brunette’s lips swept over hardened muscle, up the lithe and toned curves of her body—and he kept his hooded eyes open, drinking down how her figure gleamed wet, how a pale pink flush tinted her chest at how she’d been taken apart, ravished—and he sucked her nipple into his mouth, rolling it between his teeth and feeling her back arc gracefully beneath his fingers. She had worked her way down so that she was parallel to him, still straddling him—his gentle ministrations sending tingles over her. Her cunt still pulsed hard in the wake of her most recent orgasm, still clenched and tightened with some pressure a hair’s breadth away from the mind-melting pleasure she’d just succumbed to—and the sensitivity was so mind-numbing that she caught herself yearning to feel it again, if just one more time. 

Eren’s lips broke free of her breast with a pop and she shuddered, letting his lips trail up to her décolleté, tongue soft against the fragile skin—pressing kisses to her collarbone, to the hollow of her throat. He paused when he reached her jaw, a moment of consideration, before he outright licked her face. She snorted hard once her cheek was clean, shaking her head and smiling at him, before pressing a tender kiss to his lips. Her hips swayed a bit, leaning back—and her ass cheek pressed up against Jean’s cock. Abruptly, she stopped kissing Eren and glanced back, something dawning on her.

“Ohhh. This. This is the better way to do this,” she sheepishly said aloud, meeting Jean’s eyes—and apparently she had heard him earlier. He barked out a quiet laugh at that. This position would be infinitely easier than their earlier attempt, after all.

“Let’s do it,” she blurted out, in dead seriousness, and his smile wavered.

“Right now?”

“I mean, you _look_ like you’re ready,” she shot a quick glance down between his legs. “But it’s fine if you’re not—”

“No, we can,” he was quick to nod—even though he shot his own glance downward, seeming a little disconcerted by the cum still wet on his dick—which led him back to an earlier discussion, and he whipped his head up, squinting, “Are you _sure_ you don’t want me to wear a—”

“Jean, I really don’t give a fuck,” she reassured him as pointedly as possible. And that was as true as it could be—because even if it wasn’t something she craved, wanted desperately, like it was with Eren—even if she’d be fine if he decided against it—it definitely wasn’t something she _didn’t_ want. It was something that she reckoned would feel nice, something she had entered into this hoping for, probably, since she had turned down the protection from the start. “If _you_ want one, then of course… but I don’t.”

“Okay,” he nodded, swallowed at her blunt answer. “Sounds good.”

Still on her hands and knees, she turned back to face Eren, who looked somewhat amused. He pecked her nose with a swift kiss. The hands on her hips guided her back slightly, until she bumped against Jean’s legs, felt the soft fuzz on them against the backs of her thighs and shivered in anticipation—and she leaned forward again, giving Jean enough room to align himself. Her eyes were locked with Eren’s the moment she felt the plump head push into her wetness, felt the ridge of the head squeeze into her with a pop, and a tremor ran through her, mouth falling ajar. Eren’s own mouth parted as he brought a hand up to grasp her cheek. He looked at her in awe, in helpless love—and she stared back at the man she’d spent half her life loving, shaking softly as she took all of Jean, stuttering out a sigh as he slid so smoothly into her. And it took everything in her to hold it together, some giddy, grateful, deeply-wrought and emotional thing trying to claw its way out of her throat as she was pressed between the two of them—and it bubbled up overwhelmingly the moment Eren tugged her down for another breathless kiss, the moment he thrust his hips up, rocking both of them forward and listening to the sounds they released. A crystal bead of sweat rolled over Jean’s brow as Eren started steadily, swiftly working him open again, as his hips rolled between the two of them—and he was wrought with the rawest pleasure he’d ever experienced, something he could hardly stand, but god, it was so good, so _rich_. He felt Eren’s hips jerk somewhat erratically, heard him murmur a desperate “oh, _fuck_ ,” against Mikasa’s lips—and he was as hard as Jean had ever felt him, ready to burst. The sheer intensity of the sensation, the pure, excruciating pleasure wracking his body should have been too much, as he was unraveled from within, as Eren wrung out that sweet spot—as he sunk deliciously into Mikasa’s heat—but against all odds, that warmth curled tight in his gut, twisted tighter—and he was completely overcome, trembling from exhaustion and exertion, from powerful pleasure.

And even through the weakness in his limbs and the dizziness whirling through his head, he was still desperate to urge either one of them, both of them, over the edge. He wrapped an arm across Mikasa’s chest and pulled her up, so that her back smacked flush against his chest—heard her sharp gasp at the change in angle—and snaked his other hand around her thigh, in between her legs. The tips of his fingers rubbed tenderly over her clit, and he felt how tightly she clenched around him as she released a deep, throaty moan. Jean trained his eyes directly on Eren as he lifted her up so that Eren could see all of it—watched Eren bite down hard on his lip when they locked eyes. 

Eren rutted into him in earnest—each rough, wet slap of his hips against Jean’s bouncing both him and Mikasa—and the black-haired girl slammed down hard onto Jean’s cock with each bounce. The new angle had the head of his cock pummeling directly into that sensitive spot, and she tossed her head back with a thwack, grinding it against Jean’s shoulder and rubbing her sweat-matted hair against his skin. She squirmed as those fingers circled and slipped over the pink bud of her clit, and Eren groaned pitiably as he watched it, as he watched Jean’s thick, glistening cock stretching her flushed lips wide open as he slipped into her again and again.

Jean felt himself falling apart quicker and quicker—the sensation was maddening, pleasure so blinding every time Eren thrust into him that he actually wondered if he might black out. Head spinning, he only realized how weak he’d become once he became absently aware of Mikasa’s hand batting at his own.

“Your hand is shaking,” she struggled out, breathless—and she was making those familiar noises, was so close, a handful of strokes away from the edge. “Let me—”

Her toes curled and her body lurched hard when she slipped her hand over his, pushing down hard as she ground his fingertips over her clit. And she was right, he was shaking—shaking something awful, breath spiraling out of his lungs and head spinning. And it was all he could do to clutch Mikasa against him for dear life—to hold her close to him, feel her pulse hammer against his wrist—as she started to spasm around him, as it started to ripple through her—and he felt the pleasure coil unbearably in his groin, ache all the way up to the tip of his cock, until—

Jean saw white as relief crashed over him, as his orgasm tore through him with a shudder—and a deep, broken moan ripped its way free of his throat as he thrust up hard into her. He spilled himself into her cunt with each heavy throb of his cock—felt that phenomenal heat clenching around him as her whole body jolted, wondered which one of them had come first. She groaned even harder when she felt the warmth filling her, leaking out of her with each thrust—felt his heartbeat pulsing hard within her. And Eren barely had to see Jean’s cock slip in and out of her wetness, dripping thick white—barely had to see her quiver deliciously around him—before he met his own end, shoving his cock deep into Jean. Overwhelming, mind-bending pleasure rippled through him at finally, _finally_ being swallowed up by that relief—and he rode out his orgasm, thighs tired and trembling, hips jerking every time his cock pulsed, as he came deep inside Jean. The blonde was only distantly aware of it, of the heat spreading within him, of the exquisite feel of Eren throbbing inside him. His ears were ringing, vision dark and grainy as he struggled to catch his breath—and he realized pretty quickly that he probably needed to lay down.

Still supporting her with his arms, he eased Mikasa down—feeling her shudder when he pulled his cock from her—and tried to keep a steadying hand on her as she lowered herself to Eren’s side. The girl rolled over onto her back, eyes shut and dark lashes shading her cheeks, chest heaving. Jean slipped off of Eren next—sucking in a sharp breath at the tenderness and frowning at the abrupt emptiness. He rolled over to Eren’s other side.

The three lay there for several seconds, steadying their breath. Jean sighed in relief when the blood started returning to his head—because this wasn’t the ideal place and time to pass out, after all. His legs felt like jelly—and he guessed, from how limp the others were, bathed in exhaustion and dopamine, they were probably the same.

“That went way better than I expected,” Eren eventually mumbled, sounding kind of starstruck and cracking his green eyes open to look at the both of them. “I mean… it _definitely_ could have gone worse.”

Mikasa breathed out a laugh, and Jean caught himself smiling, shaking his head. The black-haired girl murmured out something that sounded like “ten out of ten”, lifting a thumbs up slowly into the air.

And maybe it was just the delirium of their sex high, but a lightness lifted in Jean’s chest—some happiness and satiation that he couldn’t quite put into words, despite the dizziness and exhaustion pulling him under.

“I need a shower,” Mikasa mumbled under her breath, lacing her fingers together behind her head, elbows up, and stretching. “Or six.”

“I need my soul to return to my terrestrial body,” Jean murmured thoughtlessly, still lightheaded.

Eren barked out a laugh. Jean twitched, at least a bit of coherence returning to him as he felt something trickle out of him.

“Aw, no,” he groaned, attempting to raise his hips and shift up onto his side, as if hoping to stop the evidence of Eren’s release from touching the bed. “The sheets—”

“—are already ruined, sorry,” Mikasa looked up at him sleepily, had been watching him. “I dunno if I can move my legs. I’ve kinda just been letting it happen.”

Jean couldn’t help snorting softly at that, and relaxed his hips back onto the bed. “I’m probably overdue for laundry day, anyways.”

“I’m just here to help,” she nodded, hands behind her head, as she spread her legs slightly further apart, and Jean laughed, heard Eren snickering, too.

Eventually, recovered enough to at least raise herself on her elbows, Mikasa sat up. “I really am going to take a shower, though.”

“Mm, wait, I wanna come,” Eren insisted. He shakily lifted himself up, breathing out a tired sigh, and glanced to where Jean hadn’t moved. “Did you want a shower, too?”

“Can we all fit in the downstairs shower?” Mikasa asked curiously, almost skeptically.

“I don’t see why not,” he shrugged. Though he took Jean’s soft grunt to be assent, the blonde still hadn’t moved, and Eren nudged him. “You gotta get up, though, Jean. I can’t carry you, and even if Mikasa can, I’m sure she doesn’t want to.”

Somehow, all of them managed to get to their feet and into the bathroom with varying degrees of difficulty—where Mikasa’s hunch turned out to be correct.

“It’s not too late to take turns,” she sighed, pressed flush between both men—dry except for steam, since Eren was just tall enough to block the water from reaching either of them.

“C’mon, it’s kind of fun,” Eren tried with a smile, glancing over his shoulder.

“Says the behemoth with all the water,” she teased, lifting a delicate brow.

“ _Pfft_ , okay, here,” he laughed—squeezing precariously past both of them and trying his best to keep his balance. He slipped behind Jean, considering himself sufficiently wet enough to begin lathering himself with soap. Mikasa was now first in line, sighing in relief under the hot water.

Jean watched the sparkling whorls of water as they streamed off her jet-black hair and over her strong shoulders, running in rivulets down her spine. And the longer he looked at those crystalline beads dripping down her body, the more clearly the haze was lifted from his mind, despite the heavy wreaths of steam still drifting around his head. And even if the threesome had gone well, even if there was a strangely comfortable normalcy to everything that was happening, this _wasn’t_ normal—and what did this mean?

“So, um,” he started, dawdling a bit—because what was he supposed to ask? Was this a one time thing? When they said “solution”, had they meant that this would be ongoing? And if so, was it meant to be more than casual sex? Or were they just supposed to fuck it out and hope for the best, letting this resolve organically into whatever pairing worked out? Despite how fast the gears in his mind whirred, his tongue was slow, and all he managed was, “What’re we… doing?”

Mikasa turned around, looked at him and then at Eren. She cleared her throat as she addressed the brunette, “Do we… should we—?”

“I mean… do you think it’ll work out?” Eren asked tentatively. “Based on this, and everything else? I actually… think it might.”

“I… think it will, too,” she admitted, smiling softly. Because she was happy—happier than she had expected to be, even in the best-case scenario—and it lent a uniquely hopeful air to her mood.

“Then I don’t see why not,” he smiled back, while Jean peeked back and forth at both of them in mild confusion.

Mikasa turned back to Jean, droplets glistening like diamonds in her lashes, making those dark, wet eyes shine so much brighter. Stray strands of oil-black hair stuck to her cheeks, and she pushed them aside carefully as she spoke.

“Jean,” she asked simply. “Wanna be my boyfriend?”

“What?” he blinked in surprise, as if he hadn’t heard her right. When she just waited expectantly, he figured he must have—and he snuck a quick glance at Eren over his shoulder, as if wondering if this was a trick question. “...Yes? Yes.”

And was this Mikasa _asking_? Because as unthinkable as it was that Mikasa had shown up first thing in the morning asking for a threesome—which _had_ happened, he struggled to remind himself, struggled to convince himself he wasn’t still dreaming, because holy _shit_ —it was something else entirely for her to be asking him to go out with her.

“Cool,” she smiled, standing up on her tiptoes to kiss him softly on the lips—and he realized she must be. He hardly had time to blink, in shock, before she drew away—looking at him in a fond, affectionate way that he wasn’t entirely prepared for—and Eren reached around him to gently grab her wrist.

“Mind if I borrow your girl?” he cheesed, and Jean stepped to the side so that Eren could pull her closer.

“Mikasa,” he took her hands in his own, beaming. “Will you be my girlfriend?”

“Of course,” she grinned—barking out a laugh when Eren clasped her face and smacked a noisy kiss on the side of her cheek. He peppered excited kisses across her face as she chuckled, shrugging him off when she became too ticklish.

And it was finally coming together in Jean’s mind, puzzle pieces clicking in snug, as Eren pulled back from her face and looked up expectantly at him. He understood what they were doing now, with a giddy and nervous excitement swelling in his gut. He also understood that if he _ever_ wanted to be absolved of Eren’s quips about the one time he said they weren’t dating, he would ask Eren out right now—and really, it was sweet in its own way that Eren left him with the option.

“Okay,” he breathed out an incredulous laugh in spite of himself. “Eren, do you want to go out with me?”

“I would love to,” he smiled earnestly, clapped his hands on either side of his face and yanked him down to plant a kiss on his lips.

Once Eren released him, he slung his arms around both of them, pulling them all into a tight hug—and smearing both of them with the suds all over his body. Mikasa smiled up at both of them, a soft quirk to her lip—chest oddly tight. And as dauntingly new and unknown everything was—as much as they probably still had to talk about, to figure out—she couldn’t help feeling unusually optimistic.

“So, what do y’all wanna do?” Eren proposed, pressing a quick kiss to Mikasa’s wet hair, before nudging his nose into Jean’s cheek.

The girl leaned back to exchange a look with Jean. A somewhat restless night hadn’t been kind to her on top of the physical exertion, and Jean was the only other person, after their tryst, that she trusted to possibly be as tired as she was.

“Sleep?” she asked, sounding hopeful.

“Sleep,” Jean nodded back at her in earnest.

Eren just laughed.

“Won’t argue with that. Something tells me we could use it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So... this was excessive, sorry SDJKSKSK
> 
> It's the longest chapter so far, at 15.6k words, but it seemed like a good way to finish up June! I would never lie to y'all, and clearly I meant it when I said this fic was self-indulgent 😔😔 I also realized I never tagged this as exhibitionism//voyeurism but that seems to have become a v mild theme... oop.
> 
> I wanted to write as much as I could in June, because next month I'm moving states and starting work again, and then the month after that I start graduate school, so my free time is gonna nosedive... but I'm still _so_ excited to start writing the next chapter already, so I want to clarify that this isn't a hiatus or anything, I'm just gonna be busy... sad reacts only!!
> 
> Anyways, thank you so much to everyone who reads this, and esp to everyone leaving comments and kudos!!! It really melts my heart, and knowing you guys are interested is why I write.❤️ I love y'all ok bye
> 
> See you guys next time!


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